Bird in the Nest
by sketchessie
Summary: Samantha Meyers, Alfred Pennyworth's grand niece, has been hired to work at Wayne Manor as a maid. Little does she realize that living in the same house as billionaire Bruce Wayne and his four sons will come with its own difficulties.
1. Prologue

Rain was the companion I never wanted. It rained when they buried my father. Now, it started to rain again as they lowered my mother into the ground beside him.

I had an umbrella, but I didn't open it. I didn't want to look away, in case I missed something. My eyes stayed glued to the coffin, every last inch of it, until the dirt swallowed it down, down, and away.

The raindrops trickled down my face in place of tears.

My uncle, Alfred Pennyworth, stood beside me. He tapped me on the shoulder and nodded to the mound of dirt piled next to the hole.

"Go ahead, darling."

I walked to the mound and clawed up a handful of the wet soil, grinding it into a clump in my fist. Funerals were supposed to be sad. Why was I angry?

I stood for a moment over the grave, weighing the dirt in my hand. I didn't look down; I had already said goodbye and didn't want to repeat myself. But I knew I should say something. Funerals were supposed to have lots of words. Why couldn't I find any?

I gave up and released my clump of earth; it landed with a sad sort of splatter on wood.

Alfred added his handful to mine, and we backed off to let others take their turn. He opened my umbrella for me and held it over my head, even though it was pointless now. I could feel my nicely straightened hair frizzing as the rain dried from each strand.

I watched the faces of everyone present, noting who cried, who closed their eyes in prayer, or moved their lips in time to silent speeches. I recognized very few of them; just a couple people from back when we went to church, and maybe a nurse or two. The others must have read the various news articles advertising my parents as "Victims of a Frightening New Disease," "Lost to a Phantom Illness," "Heroes to Researchers Everywhere."

Many of the passing faces glanced my way. I heard a couple older women chatting a little too loudly under their parasols: "Poor dear. Lost her whole family, both parents and a twin brother. What a shame. What a shame."

I lost interest for a while, as face after grim face paraded by. Then, I saw one I _really_ knew - Gotham's poster child. Billionaire Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Why would he come to a funeral for an obscure city family like mine?

/

I found out at the reception. I sat alone on a chair with no table, in a corner with no windows. I held a sparsely filled plate on my lap and stared into the abyss of a roast beef sandwich, wishing I would stop imagining myself chucking the whole thing at the wall.

"Samantha."

I looked up. And up, and up. Standing over me like a skyscraper was Bruce Wayne, cool as punch in his expensive suit and friendly smile. There was something about him that wasn't as simpering and sad as the other guests, and I liked it.

"This is my employer," Alfred said. "Mr. Bruce Wayne. I think you knew that, though."

Employer. Of course; he was here for Alfred, not me. But I still held out my hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"And you," Mr. Wayne said. "When Alfred told me he had a… what is it, grand-niece?"

"That is correct, sir."

"Huh. Well, the point is, any family of Alfred's is family to me. And I want you to know how sorry I am for your loss."

I just nodded along. That's what everybody said.

And then, Mr. Wayne lowered himself to one knee and looked me in the eye. Nobody did that. Suddenly, we were on the same level, equals.

"I'm going to be direct, since I can't stay long," Mr. Wayne said. "I've been where you are right now, and I want to help."

I smiled as nicely as I could. "Thank you, sir, but I really couldn't accept your charity. I want to… I want to do things myself. I'll get a job, and I can drive, so…"

"What if I hired you?"

I laughed. "I don't think I have the sort of skills you're looking for at Wayne Enterprises."

"I don't want you at Wayne Enterprises," he said. "I want you at Wayne _Manor_."

My eyes stared into his, searching for the joke, the lie. There was nothing but sincerity. He meant it.

"You… want me to work in your house?"

"I'd like to hire you as a maid," Mr. Wayne clarified. "I know Alfred would love having you there, and, frankly, so would I. What do you think?"

I didn't really think anything. I was overwhelmed that the richest, most famous man in Gotham wanted _me_ to work for him.

"I think… I need some more time."

"Fair enough. Take all the time you need and get back to me when you can." Mr. Wayne rose to his full height and turned to Alfred. "I need to head out. Meeting starts at five."

"Very well, Master Bruce. I assume you don't need me to drive."

"I think I'll be fine. I'll see you whenever you get back."

"Thank you, sir."

As he walked away, Alfred gave me a pointed look. "You'd be in a good place, Samantha. Master Bruce is quite used to taking in—"

"Yeah, strays, I know."

I knew very well. I had grown up seeing the celebrity magazines in the store and the dentist's office - "Billionaire Adopts Again!" "Surrogate Son Number Three?" I think he had three right now; the numbers did have a certain amount of flux. There was a small scandal a while ago when one of them died, but Mr. Wayne clearly wasn't going to let that stop him.

I shook my head in disbelief. "I never thought _I'd_ end up being another one of Bruce Wayne's charity kids. I mean, granted, I'd only be the maid, and I'm still debating whether to take the job, but… wow."

"If I may put in a good word on Master Bruce's behalf—"

"Don't you always?"

Alfred chuckled. "I suppose I do tend to gush, don't I?"

"Well, he is a celebrity. Everybody has an idol."

"Oh, certainly not. But there are qualities about him that I greatly admire - one of them being the ability to make even the household staff feel at home. I believe you could be very happy at Wayne Manor."

"Yeah," I said slowly. "Just… maybe not yet."

Alfred smiled and bent down to plant a kiss on my forehead. "Everything at your own pace. Whenever you're ready to go, let me know."

"I can drive."

"Of course. But, right now, I'd… like to stay with you. If that's alright."

I slipped my hand into his, and he squeezed back with a strength few would expect from a man his age. At times, it was hard for me to believe Alfred was older than the second World War. I glanced up at his eyes, where I could see the smile lines that creased his skin. Those lines weren't all from smiling. Time is never that kind.

I had lost my brother and both of my parents; Alfred was the only family I had left. I had to keep him with me at all costs.


	2. Chapter 1: Samantha

_Updated! I've started adding the animals. I missed having Pennyworth the Cat around; he might be needed later for emotional support._ _-Essie_

 **Chapter 1 - Samantha**

I arrived at Wayne Manor on the twenty-ninth of May.

It was only four days after the funeral, but I'm good at making quick decisions. Alfred got everything settled, and today, I would officially move in as Mr. Wayne's new maid.

I was expecting grandeur, of course. The expensive car was a shiny reminder of what I was walking into. But then we hit the driveway, and I realized I had no idea what real money looked like. The view out the front window took my breath away. I gasped. I had never physically gasped before. That's how awesome this place was. Imagine the White House, and then click "enlarge" thrice.

Alfred drove the car around the back and down to the garage. There were, like, fifteen other cars in there; I recognized several big-name brands. There was an elevator on one side, but Alfred steered me toward a small door just ahead of us.

And then he opened it. My jaw dropped, and for the second time in five minutes, I experienced physically a sensation I thought people only used in books as a literary device.

And this was only the kitchen.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Samantha," Uncle Alfred said.

"It's…" I sought for a word. "Huge."

Alfred chuckled. "Just wait until you see the five dining rooms."

"Five…"

Alfred put a hand on my back and led me inside. He helped me set my bags aside so I could continue gawking at the kitchen. There were cabinets lining every wall, three islands down the middle, two stoves and two sinks on either side, endless drawers and countertops, and enough floor space for a hoedown.

"Am I supposed to work here?"

Alfred smiled. "No; you're supposed to work there." He pointed to the left half of the kitchen. "I get the other side."

In my bewilderment, I almost missed the range of assorted food bowls lining the far wall. I gasped in delight.

"You didn't mention there were pets…"

Alfred made a face. "Oh. Yes, there are, indeed. Thankfully, they're not my responsibility."

"Do they have-"

A door on the other end of the room opened, revealing a stairwell and a man. He wasn't quite as dressed up as he was four days ago, but I recognized him just as easily.

"Ah, Alfred," said Bruce Wayne, making his way across the room. "And Samantha Meyers. I'm glad you decided to take my offer."

"I'm happy to be of help, to you and to my uncle." I shook his hand. "And please, call me Sam."

"Sam. I like it. Well, I'll let you get unpacked and settle in. Alfred will show you the ropes; you can have the room next to his."

He walked past us to the garage door but paused halfway through. "Oh, by the way. I've warned the boys there's a new face in Wayne Manor. I told them to be courteous, so… if they're not, let me know."

The door closed behind him with a snap. I turned to Alfred, now slightly worried. "Boys?"

Alfred raised his eyebrows. "Master Bruce's sons. You… did know they lived here, didn't you?"

"You mean… the Wayne boys? Are… here?"

"Don't worry, they're not nearly as awe-inspiring as the magazines would lead you to believe." Alfred grinned and tapped his nose. "Though I'd rather let them introduce themselves."

Alfred gave me an extensive tour of Wayne Manor. Extensive. As in, it was already time for dinner when we finished. The place is ginormous. I don't know how Alfred didn't get lost. At one point, I was on the verge of asking how they kept this place clean. Then I realized that that was why Alfred and I were here. Yippee.

As it happens, I didn't see a single Wayne kid. Not really a bad thing, for my first day. I didn't see a single pet, either. That was a bit sad.

Alfred made us a little dinner for two and we sat in the kitchen, talking and eating. With a satisfied smile, I sopped up the last of the balsamic vinaigrette and sat back.

"I don't know how you do it, Uncle," I sighed. "Is every meal like that?"

Alfred smiled. "Only the really special ones."

I looked down at my plate. "Alfred… just out of curiosity… why exactly did Mr. Wayne hire me? I mean, I didn't think he knew I existed."

"Well, of course he knew," Alfred said, reaching to take my hand. "I've told him about you many times; and, granted, he is a busy man, but… he remembers the important stuff. And you, my dear, are very important."

"He's just my boss, Alfred. I don't expect us to be close."

"Master Wayne is different. You'll see, you'll be like family in a week."

Family? No, that was taking it too far. My fingers strayed to the locket that hung around my neck, traced the familiar outline of a bird engraved into the silver - a meadow lark, the kind my dad would always make me stop and listen to. I knew the faces hidden inside like the back of my hand. I couldn't replace them, not this soon.

"Are you okay?"

I shook myself out of my thoughts. "I'm great."

"Were you thinking about them?"

I considered denying it. But before I had a chance to speak, something beeped, and Alfred let go of my hand. He pulled a phone from his pocket, gave it a quick glance, and tucked it away again.

"I have to go. I suggest you get some sleep." He got up with a grin. "Lots to do tomorrow."

I stood and gave him a peck on the cheek, then watched him run off. I cleaned up a little bit, just piling dishes in the sink. There would be plenty of time to wash them all tomorrow. Then I turned to the door.

I had no idea how to get to my room.

This would have to be something I got used to. Maybe I could draw myself a map. But for now, all I could do was wander. With a sigh, I walked out of the kitchen and into the unknown, hoping that somewhere in the endless maze of Wayne Manor, there was a bed with my name on it.

Alfred arrived in the Batcave just in time for the Batmobile to come screaming through the door. It skidded to a halt, and five people tumbled out.

"Did you get a match, Alfred?" Batman asked as he ran toward the computer.

"I'm afraid not, sir," Alfred said, turning a little red. "I was a bit occupied when you called."

"She'd better not become a problem."

"On the contrary; I hope I'll have more time to watch over your shenanigans now that she's here." Alfred turned to the computer and started clicking through the various messages he had missed during dinner. "So… three seemingly minor crimes, but all of them pulled off using…"

"A spoon," said Red Robin, his mouth perking up at the corners. "It's kind of impressive."

"It would take skill to master," Robin said. "I'll try it next time I raid your room, Drake."

"I dare you."

"We barely found any other evidence of a crime, besides the missing jewels," Nightwing said. "Whoever they are, they're good."

"And unlike most of the good criminals I've seen in this city," Batman added, "it seems he has no interest in fanning the flames of his ego. No riddles, clues, messages, or insignias."

"A villain without an ego the size of China?" Alfred frowned. "That's almost frightening."

"Not as frightening as his crimes," Red Hood said. He pressed a feedback button on the console, and a new window opened on the screen. "This is all he stole."

Three photos appeared. It was instantly obvious what their connection was.

"They're all rings," Batman said. "All of them size five, sterling silver, .7 carats with a single emerald, and all priced at about $300."

"Why would they steal something that particular?"

"Somebody needs a prom date?" Nightwing suggested.

"Or they need the gems for some sort of device," Red Robin said. "Maybe a light filter of some kind."

"Or it was just a dare," Batman said. "Kids do that sort of thing all the time. What scares me is, if this is a dare crime, and they're that good at it, what will their crimes be like when it's serious?"

"I don't know, sir," Alfred said, closing the window. "But I do know that it's getting late. If you're going to patrol tonight, you should pick a partner and let the others go to bed."

Batman was silent for a moment. "I'll patrol alone tonight. You four have all done your part this week. You deserve the rest."

"Uh huh," Nightwing said. "And then something will come up."

"Something big," Red Hood added. "And you'll end up in trouble…"

"And we'll all sleep right through it," Red Robin said. "Because yes, we're tired."

"But we're also your partners," Robin said. "So, I'm going with you, and the rest of these simpletons will take the night off and let the real Robin handle things."

The other three Robins started to protest, but Batman held up a hand.

"Fine. I'll take Damian. The rest of you, get some sleep. Besides…" Batman cracked a smile. "There's someone you'll have to meet in the morning."

"Who?" Red Robin asked.

"Not another one of your 'lady-friends,' please," Red Hood sighed. "I don't care if you're a billionaire, every time you bring home another dame, I have to hide in my room and pretend not to exist."

"No," Alfred said. "Actually, she's the new maid."

There was a beat of silence.

"We have a maid?" Nightwing asked.

"You hired an outsider?" Robin cried. "She could compromise our entire operation!"

"She won't be compromising anything," Alfred said. "And she's my grand-niece, so be nice. Now off with you."

"Don't forget to scan those fingerprints," Batman said. "I need to know who I'm looking for."

"It's 'whom,' sir, and I'll get on it straight away."

Batman and Robin returned to the Batmobile, while the others took off their masks and began to change into normal clothes.

"So, there's a new girl in the house?" Jason Todd said, setting his red hood aside. "I wonder how long it will be before Dickie-bird falls in love with her?"

"Ha-ha," Dick Grayson said, chucking his Nightwing suit at Jason's head. "I'm not going to fall in love with anyone, got it?"

"I should hope not," Alfred said. "She's seventeen, and as I'm her legal guardian now, I'll be keeping to a strict policy of no dating until age twenty-one."

"That's harsh, Alfred," Tim Drake reasoned, hanging up his wings. "Come on, eighteen. That's a little more realistic."

"Twenty-one, no flex."

Dick sighed. "Oh, well. Sorry, Jason, you still don't get a girlfriend."

"Ha-ha. Take your suit back, Lover Boy." Dick got a face full of Spandex.

"That's quite enough," Alfred scolded. "If you're finished, get upstairs and in bed."

"Yes, Mother," Jason said, then scurried away before Alfred could respond. Dick shook his head and smiled.

"Goodnight, Alfred."

"'Night Alfred," Tim echoed.

"Goodnight, boys," Alfred said, watching them as they left the cave. A grin twitched on his lips as he turned back to the computer. He studied the fingerprint matches the computer had found.

Odd. These fingerprints were… who was Ralph Daygreen? Eighty-three years old, hospitalized with eye cancer. Poor fellow. Definitely _not_ the suspect. The thief was using stolen fingerprints.

This couldn't have been a dare.

When I woke up, I was completely disoriented. I had been dreaming of home. In my still sleepy brain, I should have been in a creaky twin-size bed with an old homemade quilt over me

and a flat pillow under me. There should have been a white plaster ceiling overhead, and walls painted purple years ago, still waiting for a fresh coat.

Instead, I was in a king-size bed with a mattress made of dreams and marshmallow fluff. The pillows seemed cut from the same cloud. And there was a comforter so poofy, I thought I would drown in it. The bedding was all white, and the ceiling was, too; but the walls were a warm, red wine color, splashed with the soft yellow of a new day that peeked through heavy curtains. I was surrounded by brass-knobbed wood furniture, including a full-size wardrobe, a dresser, a bedside table topped with an alarm clock and a vase of fake flowers, a desk, and a chair upholstered in a scarlet that matched the walls.

I sat up slowly, savoring the softness and fluffiness of my new bed. I didn't want to let my homesickness go, but it left without saying good day, and not a note to remember it by. I gave up and just sat there, taking in the wine red, sunshine, dark wood scenery of what would now be my room.

Then I noticed the two doors.

I dragged myself from the downy embrace of my bed and rushed to door number one. It was a - very empty - walk-in closet. It was as big as my old room and had twice as many shelves and drawers.

The second door was a private bathroom. My own bathroom. It was also about the size of my old room, and had a jacuzzi, a stand-up shower, and two sinks - one for each of my hands, I guess. There were more fake flowers, and everything was cream-colored tile or white marble.

I sighed and sagged against the door frame. "I live here?"

"If you like it."

I turned to find Alfred poking his head through the hallway door. I smiled and gestured to my room at large. At very large.

"It's… awesome. The closet is the size of a house on its own!"

"So, it's… suitable?"

I laughed. "Oh, yes. I suppose it's adequate. Of course, it's suitable!"

Alfred grinned. "If you think this is big, you should see Master Bruce's room. A family of five could live in there."

"Yeah, speaking of space…" I pointed to the closet. "Any idea how I'm going to fill this thing?"

"With your paycheck." Alfred nodded to my suitcases, which were dumped on the floor by the desk. "And whatever's in there, to start. Hurry up and get ready. You start work today."

He left. I gave the room one last bewildered look, then rushed to my bags.

Half an hour later, I came out refreshed and ready in my favorite casual outfit, my hair up, and my smile on.

It died when I realized I had no idea where I was. Again. I needed that map. I stood frozen for a moment, wondering what to do.

"Morning."

I jumped as a voice came from seemingly nowhere. Then I realized that Bruce Wayne was standing a few doors down, watching me with an amused smile on his face. I could have kicked myself. Way to look stupid on the first day.

"Need directions?" Mr. W- Master Bruce asked me.

I nodded sheepishly. "The kitchen. That's where my uncle will be."

Master Wayne… Mr. Bruce… uh, my boss walked up beside me. "Turns out, that's where I'm going, too. Mind if I walk with you?"

"No."

I did. It felt so awkward to go strolling around Wayne Manor next to Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, who turned out to be this really big guy whose brawn showed through even his thick woolen sweater. How did this guy get so buff? Crunching numbers and pushing up stock market prices?

We made it to the kitchen way faster than if I had just wandered. I still didn't see anyone new along the way. That was fine. I didn't want to look helpless in front of complete strangers. At least… _Master Bruce_ wasn't a stranger. We went back twenty-four hours.

Alfred was waiting at the door for me. He shared a knowing look with Master Bruce, which made me feel even more stupid.

"Good morning, Samantha," Alfred said. "I'm sorry I didn't wait for you, but I had to start breakfast."

"It's okay," I lied. "I can probably remember the route this time."

"Take a seat, Master Bruce," Alfred said, indicating the small table where we had had dinner last night. "Samantha, you can start on the dishes while I finish breakfast."

"Actually, I've got a meeting this morning," Master Bruce said, opening the fridge. "I just came to grab a bite and say goodbye."

"Don't touch the hard-boiled eggs, please. Those are for… the boys."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Master Bruce said, winking at me as he snuck what looked suspiciously like an egg into his paper lunch bag. "See you this afternoon, Alfred. Samantha." He waved and left.

I found myself smiling. Who knew Bruce Wayne could be funny? I turned back to the dishes, and Alfred and I fell into a familiar pattern of work and silence.

I wasn't new to this kind of work; in fact, dishes were an old friend. I got my first job when I was sixteen, working at a diner in downtown Gotham. I'm very familiar with dishes, as well as being laughed at for blatant newness. But if I hadn't worked there, I might never have seen him.

The Batman.

I was working the late shift. It had to be about ten, ten-thirty at night. Suddenly, the burglar alarm across the street started going off, and when I looked out the window, I could see three guys in cheap ski masks breaking through a window. As I watched, however, they all turned around and froze stiff. Then a shadow fell between me and them. There was some movement, and then utter stillness. Out of the shop came a single person, and not one of the burglars. It was a tall man in a suit and cape, and his face was hidden by a black cowl. Glowing white eyes stared at me, and I stared back, in fear and fascination. I had heard about this guy, but never seen him before. No wonder bad guys went running when he showed up. He was… well, big. In build and in fame.

I stared down at the soapy water in the sink and couldn't help wondering if I would ever see the Bat again, now that I lived so far from the city.

"Samantha."

I turned. Alfred was holding out a plate piled high with pancakes.

"Breakfast."

I smiled and left my work. Any excuse to forget the past.

I was working through the breakfast dishes when I heard the fridge door open. I turned, wondering who had come for a snack this time.

It was one of _them_.

He was one of those boys built like an athlete with the face of a model, with hair as dark as Master Bruce's. He was just as tall, too, and almost as well-built. And he wore a tight-fitting t-shirt, like he knew it. I knew his face all too well; those baby blue irises had been staring into my soul from the front pages of magazines for years.

Richard Grayson, the circus kid. Bruce Wayne's first.

He rummaged through the fridge for a moment, then paused, turned, and met my eyes.

"Oh." He straightened. "Are you the maid?"

I ducked my head. "Yes, sir."

"Whoa. You're American. I mean… you don't have an accent. Aren't you Alfred's niece?"

"I'm… not British."

"Gotcha. So where are you from?"

"I grew up around here."

The boy lounged over the fridge door and popped open a soda. "An original Gothamite. Cool. Hey, I'm Dick, by the way. Short for Richard."

"Samantha Meyers," I said.

He smiled, and I tried my best not to stare. "Welcome to Wayne Manor, Samantha. Or… what do you want me to call you?"

"Sam would be fine."

"Sam… I like that."

"What should I call you, sir? Is it… Dick Wayne, or—"

Dick laughed. "No, Grayson. Kind of glad I'm not a Wayne. They can be pretty intense."

I shook my head and turned back to my work. "Yeah, I get that. Um…" I bit my lip. "I mean, he's just… you know, my boss."

"What'd Bruce do?"

"Nothing," I said, flustered.

"Hey, you're fine," Dick assured me. "I tease Bruce all the time. I won't tell him anything, if you're that worried."

I blushed and stared down at the soapy water in the sink. "I… don't really know my way around yet. So, I had to walk all the way from my room to the kitchen with… Master Bruce looming over me."

Dick grinned in amusement. "You don't have to call him 'Master,' you know. That's just Alfred's thing."

"Oh." The blushing got worse.

"And don't worry about calling me 'sir.' Just Dick will be fine." He took a swig of his soda. "So, remind me again how you're related to Alfred?"

"I'm his grand-niece," I said. "His sister was my grandmother."

"And her daughter is your mom?"

"She's… yeah. Or… she was."

Dick's face transformed into that horrid _look_. "Oh. I'm sorry."

I shook my head vigorously. "Don't be. They're in a better place now."

"They?"

Oops. I bit my lip, terrified to keep speaking. The last thing I wanted was for the whole Wayne family to look at me like some lost puppy.

I glanced up and caught him wearing the most complicated face I had ever seen. It was sympathetic, yes, and full of compassion and understanding - all those things I had hated seeing in other people. But Dick was different. He looked sadder than most, as if he actually _knew_.

"You're one of us, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?" I knew exactly what he meant.

"One of the Wayne family orphans," Dick said with a trace of sarcasm. "We all are, in some ways."

I sighed and set aside the plate I had been staring at for the past five minutes. "I know. I've heard about your parents. Just stories. I'm really sorry."

"Me, too," Dick said.

I let myself sink into this moment. The silence stretched on for thirty seconds, a minute, more. But it was far from uncomfortable. Then the kitchen clock ticked me back into reality. I tried to smile away the gloom.

"Well, this has been lovely, getting to know you, but I really need to finish these dishes."

"No problem." Dick's own smile bounced back like it had never been gone. He tipped back the soda can and sighed. "Well, nice to meet you, Sam! And… a fair warning? The other guys aren't nearly as nice as me."

I chuckled. "I'll remember that."

Dick danced out the door. As I finished my round of dishes, I couldn't stop thinking about him - Dick Grayson, the orphan with the spring in his step.

How long until I was as "fine" as he seemed?

That afternoon, I was washing windows on the first floor when I met my second Wayne. I had just lifted the rag to start a new pane when I felt eyes on the back of my head. I whirled around.

A kid, probably late grade school age, was sitting on the stairs, staring at me. I knew in an instant he was Mr. Wayne's son; he had the same eyes, the same nose, even the same chilling calm. This one didn't grace the magazine racks as frequently, but I thought I could recall a few notable headlines insinuating scandalous parentage.

And he was holding a cat. A pleasant looking black-and-white cat with piercing eyes. The boy was petting it like a cartoon villain. Not helping the image much.

"Hi," I ventured.

"You missed a spot. Two panes down, one to the right."

I blinked in indignation. "Sorry?"

"I said, you missed a spot. If you're going to work here, you have to hold some higher standards."

"Oh?" I tossed my rag back in the bucket and turned to face him, putting on my cheeriest smile. "I've already met Dick, so who are you?"

"You go first," the kid said, with an unbelievably superior look on his face.

I sighed. I really didn't want to humor him, but in this case, I was the maid, he the master. "Samantha Meyers. Your new… maid." I didn't know if I wanted this kid calling me the maid, but what else was I?

The kid eyed me like he was trying to decide if I was worth his time. "Damian Wayne."

Yes, I remembered now. "Damian Wayne: Mother Mystery, Solved?" That was the headline. He didn't look all that beat up about his parentage, but he definitely behaved like a motherless rich kid.

"I like your cat."

"This is Pennyworth." He didn't take his eyes off me. "I expect you to leave his things alone."

"I noticed you seem to have a dog, too."

"Titus. Again…"

"I know. Leave his things alone."

His eyes narrowed at my quick words. My heart sank into my shoes. Maybe I wasn't as welcome as Dick made me think. I shouldn't have said anything.

Damian stood. "I have a lot of homework to do. Stay away from my room."

He turned around and walked up the stairs. I stared after him, bewildered. Maybe Bruce was the master of the household, but this kid thought he owned the place.

Suddenly, a shiver prickled down the back of my neck. I whirled around, searching for the pair of eyes I knew were fixed on me. I caught a split-second glimpse of a figure down the hall. But just as quickly, the figure whisked out of sight.

My frown deepened. Was that the other one - Tim? Please tell me he wasn't avoiding me, too.

Then I shook my head and slogged my hands back into the bucket. What did I expect? I was working for celebrities. It was a miracle they had even noticed me.

I had finished washing windows and was on my way back to the kitchen when I passed the family room, which was packed with bookshelves, couches, tables, a grand piano, and a television screen as tall as me. Dick and Damian were playing a video game on the television, and I paused to watch. It was highly amusing; Damian was a much different person with Dick.

"Go left… no, left, idiot," Damian growled.

"Settle down, kiddo, I got this."

"Uh huh. Go left."

"I did!"

"The other left! There's two hallways!"

"And 'go left' was supposed to indicate which hallway it was?"

"You're useless. Give me the remote, I can double up."

"Hey, hands off!"

"Watch out for that…"

"I got it!"

"No, you haven't, Grayson!"

Dick threw up his hands. "Come on, Damian. You made me die!"

"If you weren't such an amateur, maybe it wouldn't have happened."

"Alright, second chance. I've got this one…"

Dick leaned back into the couch. Suddenly, the game vanished; the television screen turned bright blue, a "No Signal" icon bouncing around the screen.

Damian threw down his remote. "Now what did you do? We'll lose the level!"

"Settle down, drama queen." Dick got up and started tapping the screen. "Hello? Videogame? Come back, please!"

"Move aside," Damian said. He pushed Dick out of the way and started pressing buttons on his game controls. Nothing happened. "You broke it!"

I set down my cleaning supplies and snuck into the room. As I peeked over the back of the couch, I realized what had happened. There, wedged between the cushions, was the TV remote. Dick must have sat on it and accidentally hit one of the buttons.

"Um… excuse me?" I said, pulling the remote from the couch.

Dick glanced up. "Oh! Samantha, hi. What's up?"

"I found this in the couch. You must have sat on it and changed the channel."

Damian tutted before Dick could reply. "Alright, smarty-pants. Which channel?"

Well, if it was anything like my TV back home…

"HDMI 2."

I blinked. A second voice had joined my own. Another boy had appeared at my shoulder. He fit right in with the rest, with dark hair and a well-defined muscular structure. Were the Waynes champion athletes or something? He held out his hand and I gave him the remote. With the click of a button, the screen turned back to the game just in time for both Dick's and Damian's avatars to blink red and die. Both boys groaned as a big "Game Over" sign appeared.

The new boy winked at me. "They'd never catch up, anyway. I beat the game two months ago."

I chuckled as he walked away. This one reminded me more of Dick. My mind was working fast, trying to place him in the lineup of cover model faces, but it wasn't ringing many bells. I had to catch him and get his name before he vanished.

"Hey!" I swung out into the hall, nearly tripping over my cleaning supplies. "Wait!"

The new boy paused. "Right. I never said my name, did I?" He held out his hand. "I'm Tim. Tim Drake."

I shook. "Sam."

I remembered him now. He had been named Bruce Wayne's heir, and legal son, a couple years ago. He was also one of those whiz kids that graduates college at sixteen and goes on to redefine science. And, if I recalled correctly, he was my age. Not intimidating at all.

We stood in silence for one awkward beat. I quickly looked back at my cleaning supplies, grateful for an excuse to leave.

"I have to get this stuff back to the kitchen," I said.

"Yeah, I should go, too. See you around, Sam."

I smiled as he trotted away. After my interaction with Damian, talking with Tim felt like a breath of fresh air. Clearly this was one boy that fame and fortune had not gotten the better of.

The only problem was, if that was Tim, he clearly wasn't trying to avoid me. So, who had I seen earlier?

I learned pretty quickly that dinner in Wayne Manor was nothing like dinner at the Meyers house. Mom and Dad and I would always sit and eat together, talk about the day, and just relax in one another's company.

Here, it seemed nobody had any ideas of a community dinner. One by one, they burst into the kitchen, got a plate from Alfred, and ran out again, mumbling excuses of homework or other equally important pursuits. I watched my uncle's face; with each boy that came and went in relative silence, he got sadder and sadder. But it was a resigned sadness, as if he was quite used to dining alone, with the rest of the household scattered to the far corners of the manor.

When we sat down together, however, his face took on a new look; he seemed happier, lighter, and a lot more relaxed.

"I never realized how much I've missed having a proper sit-down dinner with my family," he said. "When Bruce's parents were alive, his mother insisted upon an hour set aside for the Wayne family to dine together."

I smiled at him. "Well, from now on, you and I eat together every night. Maybe we can even get the Waynes to join. There's five dining rooms in this place; surely one is big enough for six."

"Seven, with you," Alfred said absently.

"What?"

He blinked and seemed to come back to himself. "Oh… no, you're right, six." He chuckled. "Perhaps the more difficult task would be to find a room small enough. Most of the dining halls are meant to hold twenty at least."

"Mr. Wayne throw a lot of parties?"

"Lots. I wouldn't wait too long before getting some nice clothes. He's not had a company party for months. I can feel one gearing up."

"In my spare time, you can take me shopping," I said. "That is, if I ever get any. How did you manage this whole place by yourself?"

"Because someone had to. I'm proud and pleased to serve the Wayne family, just as my father did."

"I think by now the Waynes should take a turn serving you. You've definitely earned it. They can bear learning to clean their own house. They certainly know _where_ it needs cleaning."

Alfred shook his head. "They're too busy. I'd rather not force something as menial as cleaning on them."

I stared at my uncle. "Busy? They sat around all day doing nothing!"

Alfred was silent for a moment. He didn't meet my eyes. "They have school work."

"Oh. Where do they go to school? Dick looks like he should be in college."

"They take online courses. Damian is tutored by Master Bruce and myself. Trust me, they have plenty of work to do without me adding chores. I tend not to pry, and I'd advise you to do the same."

"I don't need to pry to know they've sloughed all the work off on you." I leaned forward. "Besides, they're all buff enough to be pro-wrestlers. I'm sure they can handle it. I say from now on, you get three days off a week, while the Waynes and I clean this place from top to bottom so you don't have to do anything the other four."

"You're very thoughtful, but I'm afraid that's just not possible…"

"Hey, I'm here now. It'll be possible if I have to drag them by their ears. You can't let these guys loaf around while you do all the work."

"Samantha…"

"It's okay, uncle. I've got this covered. You just relax and I'll…"

"Sam!"

I sat back in surprise. Uncle Alfred never snapped, and never used my nickname.

"I didn't bring you here to take care of me. I brought you because you needed a home. I brought you so I could make life better for _you_. Don't interfere with the rest of the house."

He got up, cleared the dishes, and walked away. My hind stayed glued to the chair as my head tried to catch up to my heart. Something was wrong. Uncle Alfred was a kind, pleasant, and happy man. What could possibly goad him to burst out that way?

I subtly observed my uncle as he stacked the dishes and started washing. He didn't even seem tired. He had been cleaning up after this family since Bruce Wayne was as young as Damian. What could possibly have carried him through all of it?

Suddenly, I understood. All those boys, all the orphans and spoiled rich kids sitting around upstairs - Alfred loved them, loved them to bits. But his love was draining him. He was trying to shoulder their burdens, make their lives better, just like he was doing for me. And all that weight - the grief, the egomania, all those emotions I had barely glimpsed today - was too much for one man.

Oh, gosh. He had to be at least eighty by now. If you piled on enough emotional trauma and rich kid drama, could that kill a man?

I wouldn't let that happen. Not so soon after…

I got up and left the kitchen. I somehow found my room again and started getting ready for bed. All the while, I plotted how I was going to ease the weight from Alfred's shoulders. I would become the Robin to his Batman and add my strength to his as he took care of this crazy family. If he needed light, I would be the sun. If he needed joy, I would give him laughter.

But if I wanted his burden to be lighter, I couldn't add to it - which meant my troubles were mine and mine alone.


	3. Chapter 2: A House Full of Secrets

**Chapter 2 - A House Full of Secrets**

The next day dawned bright and sunny. I lay listening to the birds sing outside, whistling back to them, wishing I could stay in bed forever and ever.

But it was a work day. Every day was a workday now. Besides, one can listen to birds while cleaning.

I ran down to the kitchen - I only got lost twice - and found Alfred talking to Mr. Wayne, who was dressed up and ready for business. I came in just in time to hear the last of their conversation.

"... a nickel this time," Mr. Wayne was saying. "A _nickel_."

"I'm sure we'll figure it out, sir. We just need to find a way to see behind that—"

Bruce noticed me and loudly interrupted Alfred. "Good morning, Samantha. I was just leaving." He smiled in a very genial, business man-like way. "We'll talk later, Alfred."

I watched him go with bewilderment. "What was that about?" I turned to Alfred. "You guys aren't talking about me behind my back, are you?"

Alfred laughed. "Gossip? About you? Never on my life."

"Good." I grabbed a cinnamon roll from a plate Alfred offered, then took up my post at the sink, which was, once again, filled with dishes. "So, what's the agenda for today?"

"Actually, Samantha, I was hoping to talk to you."

I paused, my hand reaching for a fork. Here it came; the big, emotional talk where he tried to make everything better and I tried to smooth it over like it was no big deal and both of us ended up feeling like nothing had been accomplished whatsoever. I had already made up my mind to keep my problems to myself, and nothing he said would make me take it back.

"Go ahead."

Alfred came up beside me and put an arm around me. "I've finagled your schedule. You get every Saturday off."

I dropped the fork. " _Every_ Saturday? But what am I supposed to…"

"Do you want a day off or not?"

"I mean, yes, it might be nice, being able to… I don't know, do something fun, but I'm here to work! What would I do with a whole day off?"

"You'll find something, I'm sure." Alfred kissed the top of my head. "Now, for today, you and I are going to work on the garden. There's some new trees being put in that I need to supervise, and you are going to work on watering."

I raised my eyebrows. "The whole garden?"

Alfred laughed. "Trust me. It's a nice day. I've often found a day in the garden relaxing."

He gave me another squeeze and walked away. But I didn't feel particularly happy. I didn't want Alfred to worry about me, and I certainly didn't need a whole day off every week. What, did he want to get rid of me? Because surely, he knew that working was one of the only things that could take my mind off my parents.

I paused, my hands hovering under the faucet. My parents. How did they keep managing to worm their way back to the front of my mind? Honestly, sometimes it felt like I was just at a summer camp working extra hours and would go home to them in just a few weeks. Except thinking of them brought on a pain way worse than any homesickness.

I shook my head and reached for the soap bottle. I had to keep working. If my hands were busy, maybe my mind would go numb again. In the meantime, I could occupy my thoughts with other things - for instance, Alfred.

One thing was for sure: if I was going to keep Alfred from working himself to death, I could _not_ take fifty-two days off a year. So, how to refuse his kind gift?

I was only three forks into the dishes when there was a knock on the door. I turned.

"Hi, Dick," I said.

"Wow," Dick said. "You actually remembered who I was after one day."

"Well, you are famous." My face went warm; are you supposed to say that to famous people? "And I'm just good at remembering faces. I especially like to memorize the faces of the people I work for."

"Impressive," Dick said. His hand twitched closer to the latch on the fridge.

"Hey," I said, a sudden spark of courage flaring in my chest. "No free snacks."

Dick pulled his hand away. "Aw, come on…"

"My kitchen now. My rules. No snacking. And absolutely no stealing."

"Aw, you're no fun…"

"Unless you ask first."

Dick smiled. "Miss Meyers, may I steal some food from this fully and unnecessarily stuffed refrigerator for my meagerly and unsatisfactorily stuffed stomach?"

I laughed. "Yes, you may. Don't touch the hard-boiled eggs, though. Somebody seems to have claimed them. Which of you goes by 'Jason?'"

Dick froze, his eyes glued to the egg carton he had in his hand. "Oh. Yes, Jason. Um… that would be… me?"

"You sound very sure."

"It's really more of an inside joke," he said. He slipped an egg from the carton and closed the fridge. "Well, see you around."

"Dick."

He stopped, still aiming for the door. "Yeah?"

I bit my lip. "Do, um… do you ever get the feeling Alfred is overworking himself?"

"Alfred's… a busy man." His voice was soft, as if he were holding it back.

Busy. Was that everyone's excuse? "So, you agree with me?"

Dick gave me a forced smile. "Hey, he's got a lot of stuff to him. I wouldn't worry." He quickly opened the door and slipped out. "Bye."

The door clicked shut. I blinked at it for a second. Why was everyone so keen on being cryptic and sullen? Or was I just imagining things?

Later that day, as I was weeding through the fridge for lunch food, my eyes landed on the egg carton again. As I read the name scrawled across the lid, something clicked.

 _Jason._ That was the name of the boy Mr. Wayne adopted all those years ago - the one who died.

Some sick inside joke. Why the heck would anyone write a dead kid's name on an egg carton? These people were seriously messed up.

/

Alfred sat in the Batcave, his chin resting on his hand. His mind was far away from Batman, high above the cave in a bedroom, fast asleep.

 _Alfred?_ Batman spoke over the com. _Alfred, are you still there?_

"What? Oh, yes, sir." Alfred leaned forward and tried to focus. "The two attacks that our courageous kleptomaniac has already made were both on jewelry shops, and both done using a single random object. The five stores he's been to are in the same general area and getting progressively closer to the high school on Clarence. And all he's stolen are rings - engagement rings with the exact same type of emerald. Considering this, I believe these three locations will prove most useful to you."

 _Thanks. I'll have the Robins split up_.

 _Aw, really?_ Nightwing said. _I was hoping to get some quality time with my buddies._

 _Nightwing, you_ live _with us_ , Red Hood said. _I thought you'd be sick of us_.

 _Can we keep the chatter down?_ Batman asked. _I'd like to get at least a sighting of our perp tonight. Preferably, we'd get some cuffs on his wrists, too._

"I'll broadcast the location when he's spotted," Alfred said.

 _Thanks, Alfred._

Alfred leaned back. His job was fairly simple: maintain contact with all the Gotham City vigilantes, monitor their locations and vitals, and keep them posted if the radar picked up anything they had missed. But tonight seemed fairly quiet. The Bat had been on patrol for half an hour, and nobody had even busted the lock on a bicycle. Yet.

With nothing to do, his mind started wandering again, pulling up images from the back of his memory: a little girl, two shining brown eyes, a black dress.

Alfred loved his grand-niece, so much that his heart ached every time he thought of how hard she had had it these past three years. First her father, then her mother, had died slowly and painfully from a horrible disease they picked up overseas somehow. Alfred remembered pouring money - some of it donated from the Wayne treasuries - into research and hospital bills, doing everything he could to save Samantha's parents. But all they got, from three years' worth of research, was a confirmation that the cause of their suffering was "increased brain activity," and no progress whatsoever had been made toward a cure.

What if the same thing were happening to Samantha, even now?

No; he couldn't think that. She was fine; she hadn't gone on that fateful trip with them. She was safe. But he couldn't lie to himself; one of the reasons he had brought her here was so he could keep an eye on her, monitor her vitals, as it were; and, in case of… tragedy, to spend as much time with his little girl as possible.

But if she was going to live here from now on, weren't there particular _things_ she should know? Was he supposed to keep secrets from her?

Should he tell her about Batman?

 _Hey, guys, I think I've got something!_

Alfred shook himself out of his stupor at Red Robin's exclamation. Tim was at the corner of Clarence and Wright.

"I hear you, Red Robin," Alfred said. "Everyone else, I'm giving you the coordinates."

 _Good work,_ Batman said. _Close in; hold the perimeter._

 _Do it quick. I've got eyes on him, but he's… hold on, is that a… he's using a…_

 _No, please,_ Red Hood said. _Keep us in suspense._

 _It's a tie. An ordinary men's necktie. Navy blue, polyester. Might be 'Olson' brand._

Nightwing whistled. _I do love a kleptomaniac with good fashion sense._

 _This guy is insane! He just picked the lock using a necktie, guys. We might be outmatched here._ There was a pause. _Where are you guys?_

 _In position,_ Batman said. _You still have eyes on the target?_

 _Hold on… there he is._

 _I see him, too,_ Nightwing said. _He's got something, definitely._

 _Move in,_ Batman said. _Slowly._

Alfred sat up, waiting for the tell-tale sounds of a fight. But he waited for a full minute in absolute silence. He started to get worried.

"Hello? Master Bruce? Richard? Anyone?"

 _He's… gone._

"What?"

 _He's gone,_ Robin repeated. _He went down an alleyway… we were at both ends! And on the roof! How did he escape?_

 _Maybe he's still there,_ Red Hood said. _I'll check…_

 _Wait. Alfred, calculate a possible next target._

Alfred sighed. "Lake Finnwell Jewelers. Two blocks down Clarence."

 _Regroup there. We'll let him think he's free. Then we catch him before he goes in._

 _Is this how the rest of the night is going to go?_ Red Hood groaned.

 _With luck, no…_

 _I've got it!_ Nightwing cried suddenly.

 _What?_

 _Pocket Man!_

 _Um…_ Red Hood sighed. _What?_

 _Pocket Man. As a name. You know, he just pulls random things from his pocket and uses them to…_

 _No._

 _Really? I thought it was…_

 _Just no._

Alfred cracked a smile. He was stunned by how well Dick Grayson had been able to retain his sense of humor, even after years of depressing, dark work on the streets of Gotham City. He brought an unexpected ray of sunshine to the team.

Sort of like how Samantha had been an unexpected ray of sunshine in Alfred's own life.

Alfred shook his head. If he kept thinking about Samantha, he would lose track of the mission. Back to business. And a thief that refused to be caught.

/

I thought it was an absolutely normal morning. It should have been; everyone had gone to bed on time. But for some reason, every single other person in the house was exhausted. I found them all slouching in the dining room chairs - the third dining room, I think - with droopy eyelids and vacant expressions. I paused in the doorway, a little uneasy. I had never seen all the Waynes in one room at the same time.

"Good morning."

Only Mr. Wayne and Alfred made any attempt to acknowledge me. Dick made a rather noncommittal grunting sound.

"Um… it's Friday."

Alfred sighed. "Yes, I suppose it is." He groaned and started to get up. "I'll have to teach you how to take out the garbage and recycling…"

"Hold up." I put my hand on his shoulder, forcing him to sit back down. "Are you okay?"

Alfred rubbed his eyes. "Fine. Just a long night."

"Really?" I looked around the table. "I thought you all went to bed before I did. I saw you all leave the game room in a hurry, like the clock was ticking down to bedtime and the hounds would get you if you weren't under your covers in time."

Mr. Wayne almost laughed. "I don't know where you got that. We were… getting ready."

"For what?"

Mr. Wayne glanced around the table. Dick shrugged, his head resting on his fist. "Movie night."

"Oh." A movie night? How did I miss that? "Sounds… fun."

There was a rather strained silence. I shouldn't have felt so bummed about missing a movie night. I surmised when I came that I wouldn't be an instant addition to the family, let alone best friends by day three. I was only the maid, after all. But a part of me kept asking, _Am I that unwanted_? Maybe keeping my problems hidden wouldn't be as hard as I thought.

Finally, I decided to cut the tension. "Well, do you guys want breakfast?"

"You do have work today, Master Bruce," Alfred said, perking up a bit with the prospect of keeping a schedule. "Remember, you've got that meeting with the board this afternoon."

"Course," Mr. Wayne grumbled. He looked like his head was going to sag right down onto the table.

"I'll make some coffee, too," I said, turning to leave. "Strong coffee."

"Yes," Tim muttered. "Caffeine."

Damian just snored.

I sighed and took my leave. Just outside the door, however, I managed to trip over my own feet and knock into one of those fancy side tables with the big flower jars on top. I grabbed the jar in time, but the table slammed hard into the floor with a nasty crunch. I winced, set the jar aside, and began to assess the damage.

As I checked the glass top for cracks, I heard a voice coming from the dining room. I hadn't thought they were awake enough for conversation. I paused to listen.

And as I listened, I realized I had no idea who was talking.

"...do that again, I'll drop a sausage down your shirt."

My jaw dropped. I had never heard that voice before, and I prided myself on remembering voices, almost as well as I remembered faces. Nobody in this house matched that voice.

There was someone else in there.

"I feel awful, lying to her," Dick mourned. "She looked so unhappy."

"Yeah, well, you always were soft for puppy eyes," the stranger voice said. "What exactly do you want to do about it?"

There was a pause. Then, almost too quiet to hear, Dick said, "Tell her the truth?"

My ears perked up at that. Truth? Lies? What was going on?

"No," Bruce said. "It's too risky. Even now, she's just an added liability."

Ouch. That was definitely not a sentence meant for my ears. But I couldn't leave now. I stayed fixed to the spot, blatantly eavesdropping.

"She's getting curious," Alfred said. "I don't know how long you'll be able to keep your secret. Trust me, she's worse than nosy; she's clever."

Um… thanks?

"Well, what are you going to do?" Tim asked. "Make her leave? You know we can't do that; she just got here."

"You're certainly right, Master Timothy. Don't any of you dare to think of it."

"So what do we do?" Dick asked.

There was a beat of silence. I heard a chair creak.

"We need to work on our act," Tim said. "We need to start acting more like… normal people. Not, you know…"

"Sh. Did you hear something?"

I realized I had set the jar down rather loudly. Rats. What was Tim about to say? Not what? And what about the mysterious voice? I wanted to hear it again, to memorize it, maybe even identify the speaker. But if they caught me eavesdropping, I would be kicked out for sure. I ran around the nearest corner and pressed my back to the wall, my heart beating unnaturally fast.

The dining room door opened, and I heard footsteps coming out. A pause; then they started coming toward me. I held my breath, hoping they wouldn't find me. Why was I so scared?

It was too late to wish. Before I could move, someone came around the corner. Unable to control myself, I yelped and jumped backward. Tim jumped, too.

"What are you doing?!" he gasped, clutching his chest.

"Nothing," I squeaked.

Tim frowned. "What were you doing? Were you listening to us?"

"No…"

"Samantha, please don't lie to me."

He didn't sound angry. Actually, it sounded as if he expected me to lie. I had to prove him wrong. I had to show him I could be trusted.

"I… I was. Listening, that is. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just knocked over the table, and the jar, and I stopped to pick it up, and I heard… I'm sorry."

Tim heaved a sigh. "Please don't do that."

"I know. I'm sorry. I won't, I promise."

Tim turned to leave. But I needed to know; without thinking, I grabbed his arm.

"Tim, who else was in there?"

It was as if someone had pulled down the blinds over his eyes. I couldn't read a thing. "What do you mean?"

"There was a voice in there I've never heard before."

"You probably just didn't recognize one of us. You've only been here for a few days."

My shoulders slumped. "Yeah… maybe."

Tim bit his lip, as if he wanted to take the words back and chew them to bits. But he didn't say anything. He just pulled his arm away and left. I stood there for a moment, my hand still stretched out. Then I forced it back to my side. It had no right, grabbing Tim, actually touching his arm. I wasn't his friend, I was his servant. I belonged in the kitchen, not eavesdropping outside the dining room.

So that's where I went. And it was with great shame that I stood in the doorway and cried.

/

"Hey."

I was scrubbing out stains in the sink, vigorously. I kept my eyes trained on whatever red sauce had gotten on this pair of jeans. I wasn't going to answer Tim. I knew better now. Just don't listen, don't talk, don't touch. Don't interact with them at all, and they'll stay happy.

But Tim still stood there and waited. "Samantha."

I lowered the pair of jeans into the suds. "Yes, sir?"

Tim glanced bashfully at his shoes. "I'm sorry about what happened. I wasn't trying to be mean."

"I'm sure you weren't, sir." I grabbed a shirt and started looking for stains. I found what looked like grease and grumbled. This would take forever to come out.

"Samantha."

I started scrubbing. "Mm."

"Could you… I just want to know that you're listening."

But listening was wrong. I had gotten in trouble this morning for listening. And I hadn't liked what I heard. I was a liability. I had to be kept in the dark about some super-secret gig the rest of the house had. Even my uncle was in on it. What was so important that they couldn't tell me? I wanted to shout at Tim. I wanted to scream at him that I could keep secrets as well as they could. That I was willing to listen to them, to be a part of their super special society. That I wanted to be admitted into their club - their family.

Instead, I just said, "I'm listening."

Tim nodded. "I just feel really bad about what you heard. I want you to know that we're not trying to push you out or anything. We want you to feel welcome."

Welcome? Ok, they'd given me a room. They'd given me a place to stay and lots to keep me busy. That was kind of welcoming. And some of them at least tried to be friendly. I breathed out through my nose and turned to Tim with a pleasant expression.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He backed away, not taking his eyes off me. "I just… hope you know that we want you here. We're glad you're here."

"I know."

"Okay." He tapped a finger against his leg, as if measuring out the number of seconds it was appropriate to wait. I stayed silent and pleasant. Finally, the tapping stopped. "I'll let you get back to your work."

I nodded thanks and returned my focus to the grease-stained shirt. After a moment, I heard the kitchen door close behind Tim. I glanced up.

It definitely hadn't been Tim I heard. His had a lot less growl. The mystery of the other voice still went unsolved.

/

Tim knocked on the door to Dick's room.

"Come in, Timmy."

Tim slipped inside to find his big brother working at his computer. Dick waved without turning around.

"So? How'd it go? Is she off our scent?"

"Yeah, I guess." Tim frowned. "I don't know. She's still not happy with us."

Dick turned on his swiveling desk chair. "Okay, so what's the solution?"

"I have no idea. If we can't tell her… maybe she's just doomed to be unhappy with us. Unhappy with me most. You know how it is, with the messenger."

"I know. But someone had to do it, and you're the least likely to mess it up."

"I thought you'd be fine."

"I had work for an excuse. Here, take a look."

Tim looked over Dick's shoulder at the screen. Dick had three windows open, each with a different search result: a spoon, a nickel, and a men's necktie.

"Doesn't look like you've gotten very far."

"No." Dick rubbed his chin. "There's absolutely no connection between any of these. Maybe we should call him Mr. Random."

"Mm… too much Mister, not enough catch."

"Alright, but someone has to name these guys. Anyway, I'm waiting until tonight to run diagnostics on the different items. Good thing we picked them up before the police did."

"I don't think Gordon's particularly pleased with that. We should let him have them when we're done."

"Agreed. While we sit here, though…"

Dick pressed a key, and a fourth window opened. Then he pulled a set of joysticks from a drawer and plugged them in. He handed one to Tim with a smile.

"Like old times?"

Tim pulled up a chair, a grin spreading across his face as he sat down. "I'll still beat you."

"Still worth a shot."

"Loser buys the winner an ice cream."

"Done."

/

I didn't mean to fall asleep. And yet, there I was, in the middle of the day, waking up with my head on the table and two dark haired boys sneaking in the back door.

Tim winced. "We woke you up. Sorry."

"No, you didn't," I yawned. "I wasn't sleeping."

"Of course not," Dick said. "It's okay, we won't tell on you."

I tried not to yawn again. "Thanks. I don't know what Alfred would do if he found me sleeping on the job."

Dick smiled kindly. "Don't worry about us. It takes a lot of work to keep this house looking as good as it does. I think you can be allowed a nap."

"Why were you out?" I asked.

"Ice cream," Tim said. He grinned. "Dick's treat."

"Hm." I rubbed my eyes. "Well, I should probably get back to work." I shot a remorseful glance at the pile of dishes on the counter.

"We'll get out of your hair," Dick said, shuffling toward the door. "Vamoose, Timothy."

As they headed for the stairwell, Tim hesitated. "You okay? You look… off."

"Yeah, fine!"

Actually, I felt great. That little nap had given me a lot of energy. The trouble was, I couldn't remember being tired, let alone falling asleep. And no thirty-second nap, however powerful, could make me feel this good. Something didn't add up.

"Hey, what time is it?"

Tim glanced at his watch. "Four fifteen."

I blinked. "But… it was barely noon."

We stared at each other for a moment. Tim was starting to look concerned, so I put on a brave face and shrugged it off.

"I must have lost track of the time. I did have turkey for lunch."

"Okay," Tim said, still eyeing me warily. "Well… take care."

I couldn't tell if it was a farewell or advice. I just sort of waved and smiled.

Tim gave me one last glance and left. I hoped he wouldn't stay worried about me. The last thing I wanted was for our relationship to be built solely on anxiety.

Who was I kidding? We didn't have a relationship. We had issues.

I forced myself to my feet and started on the dishes. Maybe I had fallen asleep randomly in the middle of the day for no apparent reason, but that was no cause for alarm. I was practically a grown-up now. Didn't grown-ups take a lot of naps?

Still, the episode stuck in my mind, and no matter how much I busied myself for the rest of the day, I couldn't stop worrying about it. Tim was right. Something felt off.


	4. Chapter 3: Midnight Mishaps

**Chapter 3 - Midnight Mishaps**

Saturday, my day off, dawned quicker than I had expected. I woke up ready to work, realized what day it was, and fell back onto my pillows. My mind, that little overachiever, started making a list of all the things I could do with my free time. Alfred said Mr. Wayne was paying me through a daily deposit right into my bank account, which meant I had money, real money. I could go shopping in that nicer part of downtown with all the fashion shops. I could even catch a train and travel to some small town in the suburbs for a quiet day out. Maybe I could go to Bloomfield-

Not Bloomfield. Not this soon. I grew up in Bloomfield, with my…

Think of something else. I could make myself a big breakfast. I could probably whip up some biscuits and gravy, my favorite.

My dad loved biscuits and gravy.

Shoot. Something else. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, suddenly angry at the cheery sunlight for invading the nice, cozy darkness of my room. Maybe I should just keep sleeping. I pulled the covers over my head and curled into the tightest ball I could make. Just let sleep come, please. Let it come fast.

 _Knock knock_.

I groaned into my pillow and slapped away the covers. "Come in."

The door opened, and Alfred came in, bearing a tray of steaming food. My anger abated as my stomach cried for attention.

"For me?" I asked, sitting up.

Alfred set the tray on my lap. "You deserve it. You've worked like a madman all week."

Scrambled eggs topped with a heaping layer of slowly melting cheese. Crisp bacon, still sizzling. And - bless the man, he had made me tea.

A smile worked its way to my lips. I leaned over and gave Alfred a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, uncle."

He smiled, which made his eyes crinkle in the corners. I loved it when he smiled like that.

"You're welcome, Samantha."

He went to leave, but before he could, Mr. Wayne pushed the door open. I jumped a little; I wasn't really prepared to have my boss walk in on me in my pajamas. But then I was distracted by the intense look on his face. Something had to be wrong.

"Alfred. We need you… downstairs."

Alfred's face fell. "Yes, sir."

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Work," Mr. Wayne said. He left quickly.

"What's going on?"

Alfred paused in the doorway and sighed. "Just… enjoy your day off."

He closed the door behind himself. I blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what had just happened. Maybe there had been a break-in or something at Wayne Enterprises. But my breakfast in bed smelled heavenly…

I shrugged and dug in.

/

By noon, I was bored out of my skin.

I had wandered Wayne Manor from top to bottom, getting lost twice. I plunked out a random tune on a piano I found, something from when I was still taking lessons. I stumbled across a gymnasium and played one-person volleyball, one-person soccer, and one-person basketball. My wanderings finally led me back to the TV room, where I was now, playing Super Smash Tennis. I was at pro level already. Sports and videogames were a fair distraction, they didn't hold my attention very long. I needed to be _doing_ something.

A part of me - the little lonely child that lived in the back of my head - kept barking at me to seek out some company. Surely, having someone else around would be more entertaining than playing the forty-third level of this seemingly endless tennis game. The only problem was, I hadn't seen anyone else all day. Not a Wayne to be found, adopted or otherwise. It was starting to worry me. Where had Mr. Wayne taken them all?

Then, just as I beat another level, I heard a rustle behind me. I paused the game and turned around. Dick was standing in the doorway.

"Hi," I said, acting casual. But inside I was crying with relief. Thank God, another life form! "Where did everybody go? I thought you'd all left me."

"We were… out." He came and sat next to me, heaving a tremendous sigh.

I glanced over, and my eyes widened. His hand was bandaged.

"What happened there?" I nodded to his hand.

Dick looked at his hand in disgust. "This? This is called stupidity, my friend."

"You didn't get into a fight, did you?"

He glanced at me. "Uh… no."

That was convincing. "Are you sure? I've heard of celebrities beating up the paparazzi. I wouldn't blame you." I instantly blushed. I shouldn't have been so forward.

Dick just chuckled. "No, I… don't get into fights. This is actually thanks to a ceramic mug."

"You broke one of our mugs?"

"No. Somebody else."

"Somebody else broke it, or it was someone else's mug?"

"Both."

"So that's where you all were? Getting you stitches?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Oh." It occurred to me that I was being a little too friendly, so I shut up and turned the tennis game back on. I started battling the next level - a CPU named Phil. Dick didn't say anything else, and however much I tried to stay calm, my insides started to tingle as the silence dragged on.

Phil beat me. I opted to try again. As I prepared to battle once more, I decided I couldn't stand being mute any longer. I dove in.

"I got stitches once."

"Really."

"Yeah. I was jumping on the bed. I fell and hit my head on the headboard. It hurt a lot."

Dick raised his eyebrows. "Wow."

I laughed. "Yeah. _That_ was stupid."

Phil was getting annoying; time to shut him down. I stood up to get a better shot. With a solid whack, I sent the ball over the net; it hit the ground right at the edge of Phil's square and bounced out. That CPU didn't stand a chance.

"Nice," Dick said. "How long have you been playing this?"

"Since about ten fifty."

Dick stared at me. "Really? You're… good. Don't let Tim know. He's beaten all of these."

"Has he, now?" I looked at the video game racks. "I know how I'm spending my days off now."

"Oh, you're on," Tim said, striding into the room.

My gut twisted up as I looked at that sunny smile. He seemed so at ease, like that little snafu with the eavesdropping never happened. But I knew it had. How was I supposed to act now? How was I supposed to talk to him?

My uncertainty must have caught Tim's notice. The smile dimmed.

"You might not want to make that kind of commitment, Tim," Dick said. "She's good. Like, _you-_ level good."

I flushed. It's not every day you get complimented by an actual celebrity.

A beat passed as Tim and I eyed each other, worrying the silence would stretch out into awkwardness. But then his eyes fell on the space between Dick and me on the couch. A hardness came into his features, as if he had made up his mind to do something crazy.

Then he came around the couch and sat right next to me.

I tensed at the sudden show of familiarity. He just sat there, cool as punch.

"Hey, Dick," he said, "would you mind grabbing a couple more controllers? I think it's time I faced Sam head on."

Dick obliged, tossing one controller to Tim and taking one for himself. Tim nodded to me.

"You've got player one."

I fumbled with the buttons and somehow maneuvered back to the main menu. Tim lounged next to me and gently drummed his controller against his leg. His calm was strangely contagious, and I found myself starting to relax. I suddenly felt like I should say something, to show him I could be cool, too.

I flicked my hair back over my shoulder. "Are you sure you're ready to face me?"

"Are you?"

I grinned and met his eyes. "Ready."

We left Dick in the dust. Tim and I both ended up on our feet, giving that tennis ball the beating of a lifetime. I found myself laughing and chattering like I hadn't in years.

When we left the tv room at last, it was well past three in the afternoon. Something had clicked while we played. I wasn't afraid of Tim or Dick anymore; they weren't just celebrities, they were… could I call them friends yet? Whatever they were, it was much more comfortable, and I realized I didn't want to leave their company just yet.

The boys must have been thinking the same thing. They found Damian and roped him into playing basketball until dinner. Let me tell you, basketball is a lot more fun when you're playing two-on-two, instead of one-on-none. Damian and I won in a landslide. It helped that the young Wayne had the back legs of a jackrabbit; that kid could dunk like an all-star.

And as I made my third basket, I realized that the knot that had been twisting my heart since before Dad died felt a little less tight.

/

Tim took a long breath of air as he walked off the basketball court. Today had been so good. The morning had been a little iffy, especially when Dick got hurt – though he seemed fine enough when he shot two three-pointers in a row. But as soon as he had sat down next to Sam in the game room, Tim had felt perfectly at ease. He had never realized before that making friends could be so easy.

He glanced over at Sam, who was pacing around the border of the court. She looked more relaxed, too. Had it been only yesterday when she cold-shouldered him? She seemed like a completely different person now.

Suddenly, he noticed the way she was scanning the floor, a single line running across her forehead. Tim frowned.

"Hey, Sam! Are you looking for something?"

Sam threw up her hands. "My locket! I left it with my hoodie over there." She gestured to the bench by the door. "But it's gone. I can't find it. I must have kicked it away or something."

Tim jogged over to the bench, his eyes already searching the floor. He lifted Sam's hoodie, shook it out; nothing. He peered under the bench and even moved it to be absolutely sure. She was right; there was no locket to be found.

He looked back at Sam. Her gaze swept frantically across every inch of the court. The locket must have been really important; her face was red with frustration, and she looked near tears.

Tim shared a look with Dick and Damian; all three boys started scanning the room.

It had been only a minute when a glare of light caught Tim's eye. He turned and peered at the space under the door. Then he rushed over and yanked it open.

"Found it!" Tim yelled. He reached down and picked up the silver chain and pendant, examining it for damage. It looked fine.

Tim squinted and held it closer. There was a bird engraved on the front; he couldn't tell what kind. His detective's instincts took over; he slid a fingernail between the two halves and flicked the locket open.

So _that's_ why she was so frantic.

"You've got it?"

Tim quickly snapped it closed. He turned to see Sam at his side, already holding out her hand.

"Yeah, here." He let the necklace slide from his grasp. It landed safely in her palm, and she closed her fingers around it, relief flooding her eyes.

"Thank you," she said. She lifted the chain and clasped it around her neck with quivering hands. She let out a pent-up breath and wiped her misty eyes.

Tim took a nervous breath. He didn't understand why he felt guilty for opening the locket. But he knew he had to tell her, or risk betraying the fragile trust he had worked so hard to build this afternoon.

"I looked inside," Tim muttered, kicking his shoe into the floor. "Sorry."

Sam met his eyes. Then, slowly, she opened the pendant and looked down at the miniature photographs pasted inside.

On the left was a picture of a man, easy to recognize as Sam's father; they had the same dense chocolate eyes. But his hair was a sandy blonde, and even though the photo centered on his head and shoulders, Tim could tell the man was athletically built and strong. The other side featured the smiling face of a woman, with cascading brown curls and a healthy blush. Both images had to be at least twenty years old; they were already fading a bit, and the hair and fashion styles… well, they weren't recent.

It occurred to Tim that this was how Sam wanted to remember her parents. There was no way they looked this good when they were going through whatever killed them.

Sam swallowed hard, her eyes starting to glisten again. "You know, my parents met at a musical conference. My mother was singing, and my dad liked it so much he tried to meet her backstage." She chuckled. "He almost got arrested, but mom told the cops it was okay. And she liked my dad so much, they went out to dinner together. I asked for that story so many times. I… don't know why I told you that."

Tim glanced at Dick, who stood a few feet away, his brow tightly lined. How exactly was he supposed to deal with this?

"I'm sorry," Sam sniffed. "I don't usually get this emotional."

"It's okay. _I'm_ sorry." Tim beat a hand against his leg. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I wouldn't have, if I knew it would make you sad."

Sam smiled quickly. "I'm not sad." She closed the locket and held it close. "Thanks for finding it."

Tim nodded. "Yeah, no problem."

Sam hesitated, then held out her hand. Tim shook it – gently.

"Good game," she said.

"You, too."

As Sam slipped quickly out of the room, Tim grimaced and knuckled himself in the head. "Dick, I'm such an idiot. I should've just handed her the locket, and it would've been fine."

Dick shrugged. "I thought it was sweet. You're bonding."

" _Dick_."

"Drake doesn't know how to bond with girls," Damian said. He ducked under a swing from Dick and rushed out the door.

"I'm serious, though," Dick said, glaring after his little brother. "You and Sam seem to be getting along really well. She would never have said what she did if she didn't feel comfortable around you."

"Yeah." Tim gazed at the floor. "I feel bad, though."

"For what?"

"Jason."

Dick snorted. "Yeah. He's going to feel so left out when we tell him how cool Sam is."

"No, I meant about not telling Sam. She has no idea he even exists. And Jason has to keep hiding from her. I'm just… so sick of secrets."

"I'm sorry, pal." Dick ruffled Tim's hair. "It comes with the job. Come on – dinner."

/

Tim was just entering the dining room when he ran into Alfred. He was jolted so suddenly out of his thoughts that he jumped.

"Alfred!" He felt a twinge of guilt. "Hey, you haven't seen Sam, have you?"

"Not recently. Why?"

"I just really want to make sure she's okay."

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "Is she not?"

"Of course!" Tim held up his hands. "She should be fine. I just… may have reminded her of her parents earlier, and she started crying. I didn't mean to, though, I swear."

Alfred sighed. "She's still grieving. Don't worry, Master Timothy; you've done nothing wrong."

"I still feel bad. She's probably still in denial. I shouldn't have brought them up."

"My niece knows how to handle grief by now. She's gone through it twice before."

Tim cocked his head. "Twice?"

Alfred nodded. "She had a twin brother, long ago. He died when they were five." Alfred pursed his lips. "He was killed during a Joker attack."

"My word." Tim put a hand to his head. "How is she… okay?"

Alfred shrugged. "I don't know that she is, Timothy."

"I thought you said she could handle grief."

"I said she knew how to handle it. That doesn't mean she knows how to move on." Alfred patted Tim on the shoulder. "Don't fret over her. She's very independent and hates to be babied. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get the rest of the food."

Tim frowned as Alfred walked away. When he had first met Sam, she had seemed perfectly happy, if a little distant. This was a level of grief he had never expected.

From now on, he would do his best never to bring up her parents.

Just as they were sitting down to dinner, Sam entered the room, her hair wet from a shower, but her eyes dry and bright. She _looked_ as happy as ever. She passed Alfred and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hi, uncle! Food smells good!"

Tim shook his head. This girl was the most incredible actress he had ever seen.

/

Before bed, I replaced my locket in its proper spot – hanging from my jewelry tree, now set up in my walk-in closet. I watched it sway for a minute; the meadowlark etched into the silver looked like it was flying. My dad loved meadowlarks.

There he was again! Wasn't there something else in my brain that I could think about?

I slammed the closet door closed, crawled into bed, and buried myself under the blankets. I closed my eyes, then blinked them open. A quick glance at the clock said it was a little after ten. I forced my lids shut once more, but I couldn't stop peeking at those glaring red numbers. As I watched, half an hour passed. Then an hour. An hour and a half.

I gave up and sighed. My brain was wide awake, cycling through old memories like a home video sped up to twice the speed. I didn't want to see those memories. There was only one thing for it: I had to tire my brain out.

My footsteps led me straight to the kitchen – the only place I could get to without thinking. The lights were all off, and it was so silent and empty that I started to feel spooked. I flicked on the lights and shook myself. Everything is better in light.

Pennyworth the cat glared at me from across the room. I bent down and tried to get him to come to me, but he refused and instead trotted primly out of the kitchen.

I sighed. No companionship from that corner. My eyes glanced over the ovens and counters, and my brain formed a ridiculous but satisfactory idea. No better way to wear my mind out than cooking a midnight snack. Maybe some pie and a glass of milk would help me sleep.

I pulled out every cookbook I could find and rummaged through them until I found the hardest pie recipe I could. Being on Bruce Wayne's budget, we had just about every ingredient the supermarket sold, so I found everything I needed. I worked like a madman, baking a crust, mixing a filling, whipping cream. Every technique flowed from my hands like magic. An incredible smell filled the room, and warmth radiated from three ovens as I simultaneously baked two pies, sweet and savory, and a batch of light and fluffy biscuits. What? I got carried away. I like baking.

And baking always makes me smile, without fail.

I didn't notice until I sat down to wait for the timers to go off. I realized my cheeks hurt, and discovered an enormous smile pushing toward my ears. I leaned back and savored it. It felt so good to genuinely smile at something.

My mind drifted back to the memories I had been trying to avoid all night. It finally landed on a good one: a day when Mom and Dad both were off work early. We sat in the kitchen, talking and cooking dinner together. We sat at the kitchen table, all squished into a corner, and we ate by candlelight.

After the meal, as I was clearing the table, I accidentally dropped one of the water glasses, and it shattered into pieces. Mom and Dad scolded me, and I was so embarrassed. I felt as if I had ruined the whole evening. I ran off to my room, but they didn't leave me alone. They came and found me and surrounded me with hugs and kisses. Then Mom spoke, four sentences I will never forget.

"Families aren't built on just the good times," she told me. "We're strongest when we've had our share of bad times. The only thing you ruined was a piece of glass, and glass can be replaced. But you, my darling girl, can never be replaced."

I closed my eyes and lived that moment, feeling her hand on my hair, her kiss on my forehead, the strength of her arms around my shoulders. Her voice echoed in my head like a forgotten tune. She was so alive in my memories. Alive and strong and powerful, back when I was twelve and things were so much better…

The smile was gone. I wanted it back. I jumped to my feet and ran to rescue one of my pies from the oven, desperate to escape my mind.

/

"Aw, come on!"

"No," Batman said. "And that's final. You need to let your hand heal."

"It's not that bad!" Nightwing griped. "You fight with open wounds and broken ribs all the time! This is barely a scratch!"

"And I have three other partners. You can take a night off, Dick."

Nightwing groaned and sat down on a bench. "Man, staying behind stinks."

Alfred smiled. "That's what you get for engaging an armed opponent without taking stock of their weaponry."

"He had a _mug_. A ceramic mug!"

"I'm sorry to interrupt your moping, Grayson, but we do have to go," Robin said. "We need to be there when the kamikaze kleptomaniac shows."

Nightwing gave a half smile. "Kleptokaze?"

Red Robin winced. "Not your best."

Batman gave Nightwing a pat on the shoulder as the others piled into the Batmobile. "Don't worry. You have the whole rest of your career ahead of you."

With a rumble and a cloud of dust, the Batmobile sped away into the dark night of Gotham City. Dick huffed and removed his mask.

"I got suited up and everything." He got to his feet. "I guess I'll go catch some z's. Might as well make the most of a night off."

"Just remember to take the suit off before going upstairs," Alfred warned. "I hope Samantha's asleep, but I won't bet any money on it."

"Understood."

Dick walked toward the main entrance to the Batcave. Then, on a whim, he turned and started for one of the other secret entrances. This one opened near the kitchen, where his growling stomach was dragging him. Sure, Alfred's dinners were filling, but Dick was a black hole for food. He was never full. A quick snack and a jacket and jeans from the laundry room, and he would go straight up to his room.

He made it up the stairs and turned to the kitchen door. Then he stopped in his tracks.

The door stood ajar, and light poured out into the hallway.

Dick glanced down at his mask. Alfred might have left the light on by accident. But he never did; why would he start now? All his instincts were blaring a warning. This was out of place.

Dick settled his mask over his eyes. If someone was trying to break into Wayne Manor, they were in for an unpleasant surprise.

/

It wasn't long before the kitchen table was heaped with food. I brushed off my hands and admired my handiwork. The only problem was, I had realized several minutes ago that I wasn't hungry. Who was going to eat all this?

"Who's there?"

The voice startled me so badly, I swung out with my fist, and met something that felt suspiciously like a human skull. It took me a moment of panic to realize that it was indeed a human I had punched. A male human wearing a tight suit and a mask.

All the breath left my lungs. Shoot… that was Nightwing. I had just punched Nightwing in the face. Should I be excited? Scared? My face must have been sheet white as I tried to gasp out an apology, or a greeting, or anything at all.

Nightwing ignored me as he massaged his jaw. Then, with a sheepish glance in my direction, he cleared his throat. "Sorry. I thought this place was being robbed."

I finally managed to force some words out of my mouth. "I'm… I'm so, so sorry! You startled me, and I just lashed out. Do you want me to get an ice pack or something?"

"You know what, that sounds good."

Shaking off my shock, I rushed to grab something cold from the freezer. Nightwing winced, moving his jaw tentatively.

"Good right hook."

"Was it?"

"Yeah. Should've seen it coming, though. And I shouldn't have snuck up on you. You know, because… you're a completely ordinary civilian. Whom I have never met."

I handed him a package of frozen peas, and he set it gently against his chin, sighing.

"I really am sorry," I said.

He waved it off. "I've gotten worse. That really was good, though. You should be proud of that."

I blushed. "Th-thanks. That's… really nice, coming from you." Gee, second compliment ever from a celebrity. I didn't realize Gotham made them so gentlemanly.

Nightwing smiled, then looked toward the ceiling, sniffing. "What is that? It smells amazing."

"Oh, um… midnight snack, I guess." I gestured to the kitchen table, piled high with food I could never eat on my own. "I couldn't sleep, so I just sort of… exploded."

Nightwing eyed me. "I was wondering why you were still up."

I bit my lip. "Um… you wouldn't like to take some, would you? I have a lot here, and there's only one of me."

Nightwing blinked at me. Then he glanced at the table full of food. His eyes glazed over as he swallowed longingly.

"Maybe just a bite for the road."

I smiled. "Happy to oblige."

As I sliced him some pie, I said, "You know, this isn't my house. It belongs to Bruce Wayne. But if you or Batman ever need anything, I'm here. I'm sure Mr. Wayne won't mind."

Nightwing smiled. "I'm sure he won't. Thank you."

He walked away into the night, closing the door behind him with a snap. I turned to the kitchen table and blew out my breath. My heart was still pounding, but I think it was because I had actually _talked_ to a superhero. A real, live superhero. I lived in Gotham, and that had never happened before.

Thinking about it now, though, I should've asked what he was doing way out here. The Bat family hardly ever left the city. Why was Nightwing all the way out at Bruce Wayne's manor?


	5. Chapter 4: Attack

**Chapter 4 - A New Pain**

When I finally woke up, I thought I was still in my bedroom. But it smelled like bacon and toast, with a hint of pie. I opened my eyes and saw, not a dresser, but the fridge. I had fallen asleep right there on the kitchen table.

And Pennyworth was digging right in. I chuckled as he downed another one of my rolls.

"Not for you, silly kitty." I pushed him off the table. "Down."

Pennyworth gave me a loathing look. He pranced over to his bowl, and for the first time, I noticed the trail of crumbs and pie filling that led from the table to the animals' food bowls. I sighed.

"I guess Titus got some, too, huh? My fault for not putting stuff away." I rubbed my eyes. "Better get a mop."

I sat up and stretched. A warm blanket fell from my shoulders. Someone must have come while I was asleep and put it over me.

There was something on the table. A napkin, neatly folded, with a note on top. I grabbed the note and read:

 _Thanks. NW_

Nightwing had come back?! Aw, man, why did I have to miss that?

I pocketed the note and chucked the napkin in the towel hamper. The door opened, and Alfred walked in. He glanced at my disheveled hair and the copious remnants of my midnight feast. "Good morning. You missed breakfast."

"Bummer," I sighed. "Hey, guess what? Nightwing was here! Twice!"

"Is that so?" Alfred nodded to my mess. "I see you made him a three-course meal, too."

"I actually made it for me. I didn't eat much of it, though. Seems Damian's pets picked up my slack." I stuck out my tongue at Pennyworth, who stoically ignored me. "I'll clean all this up, I promise."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it. You go fix yourself up for the day."

"Oh, no, that's fine. I've got-"

"Samantha. Go."

"Yes, sir!"

As soon as I was all dressed and ready, I rushed back to the kitchen to help Alfred. He had already mopped the floor, put away any leftovers from my midnight meal, and started on the dishes. I convinced him to let me do the rest of them. I finished with an hour left before lunch, so I grabbed the cleaning supplies and set out for the third-floor bathrooms. My hands itched for something to do even if I paused for breath.

I was working away, humming to myself, when Damian found me. He knocked on the doorframe.

"Meyers. Lunchtime."

"Okay. Be right there."

But Damian didn't leave. He stood there in the doorway, watching me. "Did you really stay up all night _baking_?"

I reddened. Was he upset? Maybe I accidentally poisoned one of his pets. I decided to work around the question. "Did Alfred tell you?"

Damian raised one fine brow, as if he'd like to smile but wouldn't in my presence. I ducked my head.

"I did, yes. And guess who came to test it?"

"Nightwing. I heard."

"You're really no fun to tell stories to." Didn't hurt the animals, then. I glanced up. "I did enjoy playing with you yesterday."

Damian tutted. "I don't _play_ , Meyers."

"Of course not. Sir."

"Just come eat at some point. I don't want Alfred to think I've been a bad messenger." He turned to leave.

"Hey, uh, Damian."

He paused. "Yes?"

I set down my rag. "Do you ever worry that Alfred works too hard?"

Damian blinked. "Not particularly. Why?"

"I was just wondering. He's kind of the only family I have left. I just want to take care of him, and make sure he's not overworking himself."

Damian thought for a moment. "I believe Alfred is capable of caring for himself. But… he's also not as young as he used to be."

"Yeah…"

"If that's all…" Damian took a pointed step backward.

"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Bye."

I raised my rag to scrub the mirror. Then I stopped. I stared at my reflection. Even after washing my face and brushing my hair this morning, I looked sort of… weary. Alfred probably noticed that. I might have to start wearing makeup.

/

Alfred looked sadly at the well spread lunch table. He had prepared egg mayonnaise sandwiches, lemonade, and even a jar of pickles, the kind Samantha loved. He had sent Damian to tell her lunch was waiting. Why hadn't she come?

The kitchen door burst open. Alfred looked up hopefully.

"Samantha! How very kind of you to come."

"I know, I'm sorry," Samantha said, running for the broom closet with two armloads of cleaning supplies. "I lost track of time. Again."

"Were you… cleaning?"

"Yeah. Cleaning the third-floor bathrooms."

Alfred blinked. "I was… going to do those tomorrow, but alright."

"Yeah, I got them, don't worry. I'll work on the second floor this afternoon after I've finished with Damian's laundry."

Samantha dumped the supplies in the closet and rushed to the table. She stuffed a sandwich in her mouth, then grabbed a glass and poured herself some lemonade. "So? How are you?"

Alfred watched her incredulously. "First of all, please eat more slowly, I haven't brushed up on my Heimlich maneuver in weeks. And secondly, you look exhausted. Perhaps instead of scouring the entire manor, you could sit still for five minutes and eat a decent lunch."

He didn't miss the slight wince that crossed her face. "I'm fine."

"Yes, and I'm sure you'll be even better after a rest. You stayed up almost all night. You deserve a nap."

"I have too much energy. Besides, I'm on a roll. I could probably get half the bathrooms done today."

"Look, you've gotten a lot done today, and I'm quite grateful for that, but what I need now is for you to sit, eat, and give yourself a break."

Samantha set down her lemonade. "Alfred. I'm fine. I like working. It keeps my brain busy."

Alfred sighed. She made a fair point. Work was one way to keep her mind off her parents. But she couldn't just keep going and going like an electric train.

"I believe that while working can be a good… distraction… rest is also very important. You need balance, Samantha. You need to take care of yourself."

Samantha chewed her sandwich slowly, then swallowed. "I came here to help you keep Wayne Manor in good shape. I'm helping."

Alfred sighed. "You came here to help me, yes, but not to work yourself to death."

Samantha shot him a furtive glance.

"What I want more than anything, more than a helper or a happy face, is a healthy niece. I've been taking care of the Wayne family for generations; I think I can manage things for myself. You need a break."

"I just had a break," she said. "All of Saturday!"

"And it clearly wasn't enough. But, if you really want to work, I suppose I could let you work on that jar of pickles I set out especially for you…"

Samantha looked hungrily at the pickle jar. "How are you so good at tempting me into things?"

"Well, what else are uncles for?" He patted her on the back as she gave him a small smile. "I expect that jar to be significantly less full when I get back."

"Where are you going?"

"Grocery shopping. I should be back in time to start dinner."

"I could com—"

"No, Samantha, you can sit here and eat."

"Okay," Samantha muttered. Alfred heard the telltale pop of a jar lid. "And… thanks for the pickles."

Alfred beamed. "You're most welcome, my dear."

/

Tim was about to mount the stairs when he heard a whoosh overhead, and a scream. He looked up.

Samantha Meyers was riding the banister down with a full laundry basket in her arms.

Tim backed up in surprise. He got out of the way just in time as Samantha launched herself off the end of the banister, landed on her feet, stumbled a bit, and spilled the laundry all over the floor.

"Oof," she said. "Almost! Next time." She turned and saw Tim for the first time. "Oh, hi. Sorry; I didn't see you."

Tim just shook his head. "No, you're fine. I was… a little startled, that's all. That was good, though."

"Really? Thanks." Samantha turned to the mess on the floor. "Bugger," she sighed. She knelt and started picking things up.

"Here," Tim said, hurrying to her aid. "Let me help." He grabbed a pair of socks. "Whose are these?"

"Dick's."

"I'm so sorry."

Samantha laughed. She tossed a red shirt in the basket. "You guys wear an awful lot of red and black. Are you Robin fans?"

Tim's face went hot. "Robin? Uh, no. Why would you say that?"

"You know, red. Robin."

Tim stuttered. "Red Robin? That's… I, uh…"

"Never mind. I guess they're just normal colors." Samantha glanced at him. "You okay?"

Tim tried to calm his breathing. "Uh, yeah." He quickly busied himself with picking up as many of Jason's socks as he could find.

Samantha stuffed another shirt in the basket. "You know, Dick's, like, at least twenty. How does he not know how to do his own laundry?"

Tim snorted. "He's seriously twelve at heart. He still eats cereal for breakfast. Plus, Alfred just always did everything for us."

Samantha's grip tightened around a pair of jeans. "I know."

Tim glanced up, and for the first time, he really looked at her face. It was aged with lines of concentration. He hadn't noticed before how tired her eyes looked, and yet how passionate. Her mouth didn't smile so much as it exploded with forced joy; her frown looked much more natural.

"Sam… are you…"

"I'm fine. Why does everyone keep asking that?"

"I wasn't… um… I just wanted to know how you like it here."

Her face softened. "It's nice. It's big. I'm not really used to big. But it's good to be close to Alfred. And Mr. Wayne is nice, and you guys are all fun and… nice."

Tim couldn't help but grin. "So, it's nice."

Samantha laughed. "I know. I'm not the best with words."

"Nah, you're fine." He glanced at her. "You're _nice_."

She laughed again, and this time, it sounded a little more genuine.

The laundry basket was full by now, so Samantha picked it up and set it on her hip.

"I mean it, though. You really are nice, Tim. That's hard to find in Gotham."

Tim stood and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Thanks. Do you want any help, or…?"

"I'm good, thanks. See you around."

"Yeah, you, too."

She walked away, that strange, inexplicable bounce in her step. Tim shook his head and turned back to the stairs. Why did she keep pretending to be happy when she obviously wasn't? Maybe Dick would understand. He acted much like Sam did – sunny on the outside, like a circus tent pitched over a deep, dark hole.

/

I smiled and hefted the laundry basket. It felt nice to carry a simple, meaningless conversation with someone. Nice. Why couldn't I find a better word? Pleasant. Enjoyable. Maybe even _normal_.

I headed for the laundry room. But I barely got five steps when something behind my eye started throbbing. I rubbed my eye and winced. Maybe I was getting a headache.

I glanced up. The light from the windows hit my eyes, pierced right to my brain. I blinked and shielded my eyes. Something was wrong…

The pain didn't grow so much as it came over me like a bomb exploding. It engulfed the rest of my head like a tsunami. I dropped the laundry and reached for the wall, my mouth open in a silent scream. I couldn't close my eyes but keeping them open was near unbearable. The pain was so intense, it felt like my skull was going to implode. I wished it would stop. I wished it would fade away. I wished for some kind of relief. My body was a distant memory, tiny compared to my agony. Nothing mattered but waiting, waiting for the pain to end.

And it did. As quickly as it had come, the pain vanished.

My head cleared like a fog lifting. I found myself panting, curled over my lap with both arms cradling my head. I felt exhausted, as if I had run several miles in the past three seconds, and my mouth tasted like upset stomach. Was it three seconds? Or three hours? When the pain was at its worst, it felt like it would never end, but now that it was over, I couldn't imagine having been here for more than a moment.

What was that?!

I slowly, stiffly unfurled myself, sitting against the wall as I calmed down. The pain was completely gone, and yet, I felt so tired, so completely used up. What on earth had happened? A flash migraine? Or something worse?

Suddenly, a memory jolted through my head. My dad, sitting on the couch, reading a book. He doubled over suddenly and clutched his head, screaming. Mom ran from the kitchen and started freaking out. They called 911, and an ambulance came and took Dad away. I just sat on the floor of the living room, staring straight ahead and wondering what had happened… wondering what could reduce my strong, brave father to a helpless, screaming animal.

His had been much worse, but I couldn't deny that my sudden attack had felt exactly the way his looked. Maybe… maybe this was it.

The disease that killed my parents. It was in me. It had finally found me.

My first instinct was to scream, to cry, to release the terror resting pent up in my lungs. But the house was so quiet, so undisturbed, I couldn't do it. I couldn't make a sound. Then my mind began to work. What should I do? Whom should I tell? The doctors hadn't found a single cure for my parents. What hope was there for me?

I was so tired. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep away the terror. I got shakily to my feet and made my way, step by step, to my room. The moment I hit the pillow, my whole body relaxed. Here in my own room, in the safety of my bed, nothing seemed more important than lying still, breathing slowly, closing my eyes… and falling asleep.

/

When I woke up, I felt a million times better. My head didn't hurt at all, and I was awake and energized. Maybe I had been overworking, and just needed a nap. Maybe that headache - so long ago now, it almost seemed like I had exaggerated it - had simply been a sign of sleep deprivation. I would be fine. There was nothing to worry about.

I went down to dinner with a new spring in my step. Alfred smiled as I walked in.

"You seem lively."

"Turns out all I needed was sleep," I said.

"I can tell. I went to check on you and you were so fast asleep, you didn't even wake up when I knocked over the desk chair."

Dick looked up a little too eagerly. "You could say your parkour wasn't up to _par._ Kour."

I snorted out a laugh. "Wow."

I glanced over the dining room, and my eyes widened in surprise. Everyone was here. Mr. Wayne, Dick, Tim, Damian… they were all sitting around the table.

"What's this?" I asked, cocking my head. "Is there a special occasion?"

"We thought it might be nice to have a meal together, as a house," Mr. Wayne said. "What do you think?"

I smiled so wide, I showed my teeth. "I think that's _great_."

Alfred swept a hand to my seat, and I pulled it out. But before I could sit, the doors burst open again, and a tall, burly young man I had never seen before strode in like he lived here. The room went silent as the young man froze stiff.

"Oh… hi."

"Hi," I offered, as the others couldn't seem to find their voices. "I don't know if we've met…"

"Yes," Mr. Wayne said, clearing his throat. "This is, um… John. He's a family friend."

John shot Mr. Wayne a look that bordered on glaring. "Yes, I was invited to dinner. And you are…?"

"Samantha Meyers," I said, holding out my hand. John shook it with a fast-spreading grin. "I'm a relative of Alfred's."

"Pleasure to meet you."

Something about him was familiar. But for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what. We settled down to dinner, and Alfred's food was good, as always, but it couldn't distract me. I definitely stared at the newcomer more than was appropriate. There's no way he was from work; he was way too young, his jacket was old and grubby, and he seemed to have dyed a strand of his hair stark white. He looked more like a stray dog than a family friend.

And everything about him screamed "wrong." I had no idea why, or what it was that tipped me off, but something about this man made me want to back away.

"So, Samantha," Mr. Wayne said, suddenly drawing my attention his way. "I hear you humming sometimes when I'm home. Are you a singer?"

I flushed. They could hear me? "Yes, sort of. My parents were both musical. I just grew up singing. I haven't been in a choir in a while, though."

"That's a shame." Mr. Wayne smiled. "Any chance I could help with that?"

"Ah, no. It's fine; I don't really have time anyway."

"I'm not overworking you, I hope."

Suddenly, John snorted. "I think she's overworking herself. The girl's a workaholic."

I stared at him. How did he know? How the heck could he possibly know? I caught the look on Alfred's face. He looked absolutely horrified.

John looked up, then turned sheet white. "I mean, I only guess, of course. I don't know her."

Tim massaged his forehead. "Yeah, nice job, _John_ ," he muttered.

I ducked my head and stared at the table, my cheeks burning. Was it that obvious? Was I trying so hard that total strangers could see I was working every hour I could manage? I'd have to be a ghost to do better.

Alfred cleared his throat, still looking slightly petrified. "Samantha, dear, why don't you start clearing plates?"

I stood so fast, my chair almost fell over. I piled up as many dishes as I could carry, terrified that I'd have to come back, desperate to get as far away as I could. It wasn't until I had left the room that I realized why John seemed so familiar.

The mystery voice. It was his.

/

As soon as Samantha had left the room, Bruce turned on the dinner party's unexpected guest.

"What were you thinking?" he hissed. "You could've blown your cover, not to mention ours!"

"Yes, _John_ ," Damian snickered. "You're usually so tight-lipped."

"It just slipped out," Jason snapped, glaring daggers at his brother. "I can't help myself, I'm a fast talker."

"Well, learn to deal with it," Bruce growled. "I hope you'll remember why we keep our night jobs a secret from Alfred's niece next time you decide to show off."

"Alright, sheesh!" Jason scooted out of his chair. "I got it."

"You'd better," Bruce said as Jason made his escape.

"That boy is a hazard," Alfred sighed.

Bruce shook his head. "I don't know what to do with him."

He made his way to the kitchen, where Samantha was already working away at the dishes. Bruce had noticed at dinner that she looked a lot better than she had the past few days. But she still looked tired. He turned solemn with sympathy.

"Samantha," Bruce said. "I'm sorry if our friend hurt your feelings. He can be a little loose with his words."

"I don't mind, Mr. Wayne," Samantha said, giving him her usual sunny smile. "I actually enjoyed myself. I haven't had a meal with my whole fam… I mean, with… a group of people in a long time."

"I'm glad you liked it. Alfred was the one who suggested it."

"Oh." Her smile fell a little.

Bruce tapped a knuckle against the counter. "You know he just wants you to be alright."

"I know. But I'm fine."

"I'm sure you are." Bruce decided to change the topic. "You know, going back to our earlier topic, I really do want to help with anything I can. I know you haven't graduated yet. And I was wondering if you would permit me to pay for your education for senior year of high school."

Samantha blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Really," Bruce laughed. "I'm sure I can spare the cash."

"Then… alright. I would love that. Thank you."

Bruce smiled. "Good! I'm glad my money has something beneficial to do instead of just sitting in a bank vault all day."

Samantha laughed. "Happy to oblige, Mr. Wayne."

"I do have one requirement: you have to stop calling me Mr. Wayne. Bruce will do."

"Yes, sir… Bruce."

/

"Your niece has to be one of the most innocent and sunny persons I've met," Bruce said, pulling on his gloves. Alfred glanced over from his post at the computer.

"I couldn't have said it better myself, sir." Alfred frowned. "Still, I can't help but feel as if…"

"She's not really as happy as she seems," Bruce said. "Not all the time, but often enough. It's the smile. It's too forced."

"You don't have to tell me. I was the one who had to gauge your emotional well-being from the most minute details for years."

"And I was taught by the greatest psychologist on earth." Bruce lifted his cape onto his shoulders, straightening slightly as he began to settle into the familiar character of Batman. "We can discuss Samantha later. Listen up, team!"

The four boys snapped to attention, subconsciously forming a line in front of their leader.

"Tonight is about vigilance and speed," Batman said. "I don't want to lose our thief again, so I'm splitting you all into teams of two, which will each be stationed near a specific target location. Alpha, you'll be Robin and Nightwing. You'll be stationed at Isla Fair Jewelers."

Nightwing grinned and held out his hand to his little brother. Robin allowed him a subtle high five.

"Beta will be Red Robin and me," Batman continued. "And Gamma…"

"Wait, is Gamma just the Hood?" Red Robin cut in. "No offense, but isn't he the worst person to have fighting alone?"

"He won't be alone," Batman said. "Just a warning, Hood, I would've benched you completely, after that stunt you pulled at dinner, but unfortunately, we need all the help we can get. So I called in a friend to keep an eye on you."

"Hold up," Red Hood said. "Who exactly did you assign me to? You know I have a very refined taste…"

"Lucky for you," said a new voice, "I'm very refined."

Nightwing whirled around. "Batgirl!"

Batgirl waltzed in from the outside entrance. "Hey, boys. I hear there's a new bandit giving you trouble."

"Bandit!" Nightwing cried, snapping his fingers. "The… the… aw, never mind. I've got nothing."

"No, wait, it has potential," Red Hood said. "Wait… the Bewildering Bandit. Naw… oh, he steals rings, right? Bandit of the Rings… bling! Bling Bandit!"

"I refuse to call him that," Robin sniffed.

"Back on task, please," Batman sighed. "Batgirl, you and Red Hood will be patrolling the streets surrounding Canopy Jewelers. Watch him, Please?"

"Aye-aye, Captain!" She whipped her hand to her temple and headed for the vehicle bay. "Canopy's not too far; we can just take the bikes. Come on, Red Helmet. Let's go."

"It's Red Hood!"

"Gee, is that right? It sure looks like a helmet to me…"

"Nightwing and Robin," Batman continued, "you'll be taking the Batmobile. Nightwing drives."

"Yes! Sweet!" Nightwing punched the air. "Dude, having a license and Batman for your dad _rocks_!"

"I can drive," Robin huffed.

"No."

"I know how!"

"No. Nightwing, don't forget, Isla Fair."

"That's the one on the posh side of town," Alfred said. "Not the one on Pinebrook; he's already been there."

"Here," Batman said, tossing the keys to Nightwing

"Batmobile. Isla Fair. Posh." Nightwing caught the keys. "Got it. Let's hit the road, Robin."

"Give me the keys."

"No."

"But I want to drive!"

"Aw, are you whiny, Wobin?"

"I hate you."

"Red Robin," Batman said, pulling up his cowl. "You and I are canvassing the St Clair area. There's two jewelry stores there that our thief hasn't been to."

"Got it. Is there one store he's more likely to go to?"

"Both have the kind of emerald he's looking for," Batman said. "Neither is a more likely candidate, especially as he seems to have no pattern and we know nothing specific about him. These are his last targets. He's hit every store, every pawn shop, even some private dealers. Tonight, we get him, or we lose him."

"Right, no pressure," Tim said. "Let's get going."

/

It was hours before Alfred heard anything, and then it was just a hurried check in from Batman, asking if the others had called the Cave. They hadn't.

It was morning when they came home. They all wore looks of exhaustion and defeat.

"Where were you all?" Alfred asked, massaging his tired eyes. "Did you forget to contact me when he showed up?"

"He didn't show up, Alfred," Batman said. He ripped off his cowl and threw it aside. "He didn't show up at all."


	6. Chapter 5: No Good Answers

**Chapter 5 - No Good Answers**

I sighed when I came into the breakfast room and once again found everyone in a sleepy daze. "Another movie night?"

"Yeah," Mr.… Bruce said grumpily.

As my gaze swept around the table, it registered a head of black hair with one bleached tuft. I frowned deeply. They had invited John. The second night in a row they had done something fun and left me out of it, and now they were inviting friends. I tried not to look too disappointed. I wasn't their friend, I was their maid. I had to remember. After all, they were boys; they needed boy time.

But then, I realized they weren't all boys. There was someone new at the table: a girl with red hair and bright, sea green eyes. She was the only one who smiled at me, and considering the circumstances, it felt like a taunt.

"Ah, yes," Alfred said, making an effort to rouse himself. "Samantha, this is Barbara Gordon. Miss Barbara, this is my niece, Samantha Meyers."

"Nice to meet you," Barbara said.

They had invited her to the movie night. A girl. Which meant it wasn't just a boy thing; it was a _friend_ thing. That stung more than it should have. I squared my jaw and tried to remain civil.

"Nice to meet you, too."

"How did you sleep?" Alfred asked, watching me closely.

"Like a baby. I can tell you didn't."

"Technically, the optimum sleep pattern for someone your age would differ significantly from that of an infant, so to say that you slept like one would indicate a deficiency in your level of rest."

I blinked at Damian. "That's… neat. Um, shall I go get breakfast ready?"

"I already made it," Alfred said.

"You… you did?"

I looked at the buffet table. There were three covered soup tureens, a plate piled with biscuits, and pitchers of milk and coffee.

"Alfred, how much sleep did you get?" I asked, a little afraid to know the answer.

"Not much," he sighed. "I couldn't, really."

"That does it. No more movie nights."

"Help yourself," Alfred said.

The room went dead as everyone slumped back into a stupor. As I served myself, every sound I made felt out of place and impolite. I wanted nothing more than making a quick escape. But before I could get to the door, Miss Barbara, Friend of the Waynes, walked right in front of me and started piling sausage links onto her plate. I stared. Her appetite could match that of any teenage boy.

"I might as well get a refill before these boys eat everything," she said. "If they ever decide to get up."

"Not likely," John groaned as he laid his head on the table.

"Come on," Barbara said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Let's find somewhere else to sit. Otherwise, the guys will snore on our food."

Before I could protest, she had steered me out of the room and down the hall. I found myself walking rapidly away from the dining room as she pushed me along. My discomfort doubled.

"You steer," Barbara said. "Where do we go?"

"Uh… turn here."

I guided her to the kitchen, where hopefully I could get out of conversation by washing some dishes. But the moment we walked in the door, she turned me to the table and forced me to sit. Then she plunked down across from me.

"So. I haven't seen you before. I assume, because of what you said about making breakfast, you're a worker of some sort."

"Maid."

"Gotcha. That must be nice, being on Bruce Wayne's payroll." She took a bite out of a sausage. "I couldn't help but notice you seem pretty close with Alfred. Are you related?"

I stared at the fork in my hand. "I'm his… sister's daughter's daughter."

"So, grandniece."

"Uh huh."

"That's got to be cool. Alfred's the best. Do you see each other often?"

She sure was talkative. It was a little off-putting, but I decided it was far better than the dead silence upstairs. "I see him every day, now."

Barbara paused mid-bite and looked up. "Hang on, do you live here?"

I picked at my food uncomfortably. "Yeah."

"Bruce never told me he was taking anyone in." Barbara cocked her head. "How long have you been here?"

This was going to get old very fast. I sighed and admitted, "Less than a week."

"Ah, that makes sense. What about your parents? Do they live here, too, or do they live in town?"

I mumbled down at my biscuit.

"What?"

"They're dead," I spat across the table.

Her face instantly switched from friendly interest to utter horror. "Oh. I'm… I'm so sorry, I didn't…"

I immediately felt bad for my outburst. Barbara was just trying to be cordial, even if I wasn't particularly interested. I took a deep breath to clear my head.

" _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have blown up."

Barbara nodded. "I understand. I've known this family for a long time. Especially Dick. You know he's…"

"Yeah, he's an orphan. Like me."

"Yes. And I've known him since he was younger, when it was still pretty fresh. He's boiled over a couple times." Barbara put her chin on her hand. "I still have both my parents, and a little brother to boot, so I guess I'm not really a good sympathizer."

"A little brother?"

"Jimmy Junior. Named after my dad."

Jimmy Gordon? No, wait. My eyes went wide. "Oh. You're… you mean _that_ Gordon. As in…"

"Yep. The famous Jim Gordon's my dad."

"The one who works with Batman?"

"Yeah."

"He must be cool to have as a dad."

Barbara smiled. "He can be. He's pretty busy most of the time. He shows up to birthday parties and holidays, but on regular weeks, he's usually out saving Gotham all day. Still, I love him. You know, one time…"

She went on to tell me a long story about one of the aforementioned birthday parties, and I at last found the stomach to turn to my food. But as soon as I really looked at what I had put so hastily on my plate, I froze stiff.

Biscuits and gravy – one of my favorites. I loved it so much because Dad made it all the time, especially on weeknights when he didn't have much time or energy. Mom and Dad were both talented singers, but they needed real jobs to get real money, so Mom worked at a laundromat on the weekends, and Dad worked at the local gym on weekdays. He often came home smelling like sweat and iron, but hey, I got in free on Wednesdays. They still let me come in free after he was hospitalized. And after he died. I think they missed him. Or maybe it was just pity.

Well, I sure missed him. And thinking about him was making me want to cry. I forced the lump in my throat back down. I realized I was glaring at my now soggy biscuits, as if I could set them on fire with my gaze.

"Samantha?"

I cleared my throat. "Sorry, what?"

She frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I said, perhaps a little too snappishly.

"Did I upset you?" Barbara reached across the table, just a little bit. "I don't know what I said, but I'm sorry."

I took a deep breath. I couldn't stop the tears any longer. I just kept seeing them – their faces, floating in the back of my mind, tapping at my consciousness and wanting in.

Barbara got up, came around the table, and hugged me. I didn't have the energy to be surprised.

"It's okay," she cooed, brushing a hand over my hair. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I'm fine." I brushed the tears away. "I must just be tired."

The brushing stopped. Barbara crouched so she and I were face to face.

"I've heard that excuse before. Don't forget, I live with a police officer, and my best friend is an orphan. I know what tired looks like, and I know what sad looks like. You, dear, are the latter. So, I'll ask again: can you tell me?"

My breath shuddered in my chest. I could tell by the way she carried herself that Miss Barbara was much older and much more confident than I was; but I wasn't afraid of her, the way I was often afraid of women like her. No, those women were pushy; Barbara was _sincere_ , and I was already starting to trust her.

"I was remembering my own father," I confessed. "And my mother. I can't seem to stop thinking about them lately."

Barbara smiled. Her smile didn't simper or condescend; it warmed. It warmed me to my soul. I leaned toward her, like a leaf to the sun.

"I loved them," I went on. "I still love them. They were strong and clever and ambitious. They were all I had for so long that I feel lonely and empty, even with Alfred here. I try to stop thinking about them any way I can; I work constantly. But I can't stop, not really. And it… _hurts._ "

Barbara pulled me back into her arms. She hummed deep in her chest, and I could feel it vibrating through my body.

"You shouldn't be afraid of your memories," she said. "They're not what's hurting you. It's the prospect of a future in which you can't make any more of those memories. Am I right?"

I blinked. "Yeah… yeah, that's it."

"I'm sorry if I caused this," she said. "My dad is great and all, but I really shouldn't brag about him so much."

"It's not your fault," I said.

She pushed me out to arm's length. "You can talk to me, okay? I know you might not want to, but I'm here. I've handled things like this before. I'm happy to do it again."

I nodded.

"Good. And I'm sorry again for making you sad."

"No, it's okay. I haven't really talked just normally with people in a long time. I've missed it. And honestly… I've missed having other girls around, too."

"Aw." She smiled. "Well, I can be around more, if you'd like."

I smiled back. "I would very much like."

I think that's when Babs and I became friends.

/

"She's out of earshot," Dick said, pulling his head back inside the doors and shutting them tight.

As soon as the all clear was sounded, heads came up and eyes cleared. The room woke up in an instant, their exhausted guise vanishing to reveal well-hidden alertness and focus.

Alfred stared down at the table, feeling like the weight of his secret guilt was pulling him toward the floor. How could he keep deceiving Samantha like this? She had looked so disappointed at the thought of being left out again.

His thoughts were interrupted as Bruce dove into the day's business.

"Last night, as we all know, was a complete failure," Bruce said, looking as if he'd like to grind his fist into the table. "The thief didn't even make an appearance. So far as we know, he wasn't even out last night. We can't let it throw us off. We need to keep an eye on the computer at all times, just in case he plans on coming out during the day. We know he's not afraid of the light."

"But what about Sam?" Tim asked. "She still doesn't know. If we're in the Batcave all day, she'll get suspicious."

"We won't be in the Batcave all day; we're taking turns," Bruce said. "We go for an hour at a time. Wear watches today. We switch on the hour."

"But Sam…"

"If you're worried about Sam, just stay out of her way."

"We've been doing that," Dick said. "Haven't you noticed the way she looks when we talk about our 'movie nights?' She feels left out."

"And for good reason," Tim said. "Why can't we tell her?"

Bruce pounded the table. "Because I will not have another person under my roof put in harm's way by Batman! Telling her is out of the question."

"But…"

"Case. Closed."

There was a beat of tense silence. Alfred felt quite pleased with Tim for thinking of Samantha, but he had to agree with Bruce. No matter how bad he felt keeping secrets from his niece, it was for her own safety.

"Fine," Tim said. "But I won't avoid her."

"Me, neither," Dick said. "We just need to be careful of alerting her to our doings. She can't notice us leaving so regularly."

"You all should be pros at making good excuses by now," Alfred said, with not a little touch of irony. "I'm sure that, when the time comes, you'll think of something."

Another heavy silence followed this comment. It was clear the conversation was over, but no one wanted to make the first move. Finally, Jason stood.

"Well, if none of you are going to, I might as well eat all this food. I'll be in my room, pretending to be dead, as usual."

Alfred didn't have the heart to tell him off for eating in his room, and out of the soup tureens, for heaven's sake. He was thinking of his niece, surrounded by a whole other world, living so very close to danger, and just barely kept safe by a thin mesh wall of secrets and lies.

How long until she stumbled across the entrance to the Batcave? How long until she overheard one of their conversations and figured it out? How long until she pieced everything together from all the incredibly suspicious activity going on around her constantly? She was clever. She was observant. And worst of all, she was endearing. Which meant soon enough, someone wouldn't have the heart to keep her in the dark anymore.

And it would probably be Alfred.

/

The rest of the day was… well, weird.

First of all, when I came upstairs after Barbara left, the breakfast room was empty. I knew we hadn't been gone super long, and considering how tired everyone had been, why would they all up and leave when they could sit around in their chairs? Or did they, once again, have a million important things to do?

Then, when I was scrubbing down the sink in the main bathroom on the first floor – it's a huge bathroom, probably for guests at big parties, and the sink could have been a trough for a horse – I saw Dick walk past. I poked my head out to say hi, but he was gone. I looked up and down the hallway, even poked inside a couple of the other rooms to see if he had gone into one, but I found not a trace of the eldest Wayne boy. Where had he gone?

I let it go until, an hour later, I was sitting in the game room watching Tim and Damian battle it out on Guardblock 6. All of a sudden, Damian's watch beeped. He glanced at it, then paused the game.

"We'll finish this later, Drake. I have to go."

"Mind if I do something else while you're gone?"

"I don't care. If you dare try to cheat..."

"Like I'd need to."

"For your information, you were beaten ten minutes ago."

"I thought you had to go?"

"Alright, but this isn't over."

Damian left, and Tim leaned over toward me, holding out a controller.

"You want to play?"

I laughed. "Not for Damian."

"I'll change the game. What do you want to play?" He stood up and started trailing his finger along the games so neatly shelved in a storage unit on the wall. "We've got… tennis? Golf?"

"What, you think I can't play the hard ones?"

"Are you saying you can?"

"Bring it on, brother."

He gave me an odd little smile. I realized that, even in jest, I had just called him brother. Huh. Well, I didn't mind if he didn't.

We ended up playing "Jade Warriors: The Omega Race" for an hour. Then, out of the blue, he looked at his watched and paused the game, just like Damian had.

I looked up. "What?"

He set aside his controller and flashed me a guilty grin. "Just procrastination, coming back to bite me. I forgot about a pretty big essay that I have to finish for tomorrow."

"Ugh. What class is it for?"

Tim continued to back toward the door. "Um… Biology. Anyway, it's a pretty big assignment. I should probably…"

"Hey, I totally get it. Don't let me keep you."

"Thanks, Sam." He waved over his shoulder. "Hey, fun playing with you! Let's do it again sometime."

"Yeah, let's."

As I stared at the pause screen, I felt a little guilty. I had been playing videogames for two hours. It was time I got back to work.

Just as I got up, John walked in. He saw me and stopped.

"Oh. It's you."

"I was just leaving," I mumbled. I couldn't look him in the eye, not after he was invited to the Waynes' secret movie party and I wasn't. Did he live here now, too?

"Mind if I play?"

"Go ahead," I said, tossing my remote on the couch. "I'm going to get some work done."

I ran to the kitchen and gathered up some dusting cloths and a rag. I knew there were some office rooms I hadn't been to yet, and I wanted to go over the entire house at least once, so I was familiar with what was needed where. For some reason, all the offices were on the first floor – probably, I realized as I walked into the first one, because they were some of the grandest rooms in the house.

Floor to ceiling windows cast long beams of light on an intricate Indian rug. To one side stood a desk of dark, polished wood, and well-stocked bookshelves lined every wall. My eye caught sight of a grandfather clock, stately in its spot of honor behind the desk. Maybe that needed dusting.

As I crossed the room, I stared up at the great big painting hanging over the desk. There were three people in the picture. I didn't know them, but they looked familiar. A man and a woman and a boy. A family. And the father looked an awful lot like…

"Bruce," I whispered into the silence. "It's Bruce's office."

Which meant this must be Bruce's family. The boy was Bruce, and the man and woman were his parents.

I had heard the sad history of the Wayne family. How they had gone out to a theater one night, and upon leaving, were accosted in a nearby alleyway. Both Mr. and Mrs. Wayne had been shot and killed, leaving Bruce an orphan. Maybe that's why he kept adopting kids – so that he could be the father he didn't get. Dick was an orphan, too; maybe that's why Bruce adopted him. So far, I got the feeling Tim was in the same boat. And I hadn't heard a word – not even the barest whisper – about Damian's mother; maybe she died, too.

What an unlucky family.

I looked around the rest of the room. There were plenty of framed art pieces randomly arranged across the walls, but only one more picture – a portrait of Bruce and all his boys. It was strange to see them all dressed up and serene. I had only ever seen them in jeans and t-shirts. Except Bruce, of course, who didn't seem to grasp the concept of dressing down.

I took a moment to look a little more closely at the grandfather clock and realized suddenly that the time was off. The clock said it was 10:50. I knew for a fact that it was only nine o'clock. I reached out to turn the hands back to the proper time.

"Sam!"

I snatched my hand back and whirled around, all while jumping out of my skin. Bruce Wayne stood in the open doorway, his face livid.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I was just cleaning, Mr. Wayne!" I held up my dusting cloths.

"My office is off limits," Bruce said as he towered over me, his frown casting dark shadows over his eyes. "Please get out."

I ducked my head and ran. I didn't stop running until I came to my bedroom; I dove through the door and slammed it shut. The desk chair creaked angrily as I collapsed into it, panting.

My chest felt hollow, like I was going to cry. Bruce had never been angry with me before. He was scary when he got mad. What was so wrong with going in Bruce's office? Was he afraid of me breaking something? Seeing something?

No, that's silly. I tried to rein in my wild imagination. But something about how he reacted to my presence made shivers of doubt raise the hairs on my arms. Something wasn't right about the Waynes.

I wondered if Alfred could tell me. Maybe I'd try to speak to him about it. But for now, I had to calm down my still racing heart. Bruce Wayne angry would be enough to scare Batman!

/

Alfred entered the kitchen with a heavy, anxious heart. He knew Samantha would be in there, working hard. Too hard. She didn't look healthy anymore. Granted, she hadn't looked very healthy at all since her mother died; grief explained that. But ever since she started working at Wayne Manor, she continued to look worse. Alfred knew the signs of fatigue well; he had to bear seeing them in the faces of the Waynes every morning after a long, hard night of keeping Gotham safe.

May dear Samantha never have to live like that.

Alfred opened the door to find Samantha mopping the floor on her side of the kitchen. She looked up with a smile as bright as ever.

"Hello."

"Samantha," Alfred said. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah!" She scrunched up her forehead. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm worried you've set yourself some very high standards. I just want you to know you don't have to do all the work, just for me."

Samantha smiled less brightly. "About working… I tried to dust in Bruce's office today."

Alfred's heart dropped. "Oh."

Samantha let the mop rest, her face cycling through a million emotions. "Yeah… he got really mad. And I was just wondering… why?"

She was hurt. Alfred's heart cracked in two. Bruce's anger had probably scared her. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, a protective gesture. But the way the space between her eyebrows creased showed she was more worried than scared.

She probably interpreted Bruce's strict secrecy as unhappiness with her. And it was all because of the doorway - the secret doorway hidden behind the grandfather clock. Which she could never know about, so don't even think about it, or you might get loose lips.

"I think…" Alfred swallowed hard, trying to control himself. "I think he's just worried about… having a space to himself."

"But he was so upset… I could see it on his face, he wasn't just annoyed, he was angry." Samantha furrowed her brow. "I thought he might have been worried about me breaking something, but he doesn't seem like the sort of person who would blow up over a broken vase."

Alfred tugged at his collar. "I'm sure he was just having a bad day."

Samantha cocked her head. "Because he was up late, watching a movie with the rest of you?"

"Yes, that must be it."

Samantha didn't look satisfied. In fact, she looked more upset than ever. "Does he ever shout at you?"

"I don't… well, I know him better."

"I'm sure." Samantha began mopping vigorously. "I'm sure it makes all the difference, being a part of the family and not just the hired help. You know all the rules, all the do's and don'ts. You don't have to worry about tripping up and accidentally making the whole family angry with you for ruining their day."

"Samantha," Alfred said, disliking the new tone this conversation was taking. "I don't think you're approaching this the right way."

Samantha threw the mop to the floor. "Well, then, why don't you help me? Maybe you could teach me how not to be a nuisance, maybe tell me what the Waynes hate so I don't accidentally tick them all off! Maybe even tell me the real reason Bruce doesn't want me in his office, because no matter what excuse you come up with, I can tell you've made it up! And the other excuses, too. Movie nights that turn you all into deflated zombies? I've never heard a more obvious lie in my life!"

Alfred could feel is fear becoming visual. The wall of secrets that kept her safe was almost tangible, hovering between them - the uncle and his niece. It physically pained him to keep it up, but for her sake, he could never break it down. She couldn't know about… don't even think it. Think it, and it might become as clear as that wall.

"And do you know what else I'm not buying?" Samantha growled. "Family. You said I'd be a part of this household, a real part of a real family. But if they're keeping secrets from me - if _you_ , my _real_ family, are keeping secrets from me - if I'm a liability to whatever you're hiding, then I'm not one of you. And maybe that's what's wrong with me, uncle. Maybe, even living under the same roof as six other people, I'm still just as alone as I was the day Mom died!"

The room fell into a ringing silence. Samantha stood frozen and stiff in a puddle of soapy water, a mop laying at her feet like a dead thing. Alfred tried to speak, but what could he say? There was nothing to say. He had to keep the secret.

This secret was destroying them.

Samantha hid her face, her hair falling around it like a veil. Alfred knew she didn't want to talk; frankly, neither did he. If he talked any more, he'd start spilling secrets. And that wouldn't help her in any way.

Alfred took a deep breath and tapped into his acting skills. "I'm going to start lunch. How much longer do you think you'll be?"

Samantha stirred. She bent down and picked up the mop. "Not long."

"Would you mind doing my side when you're done?"

"Not at all."

They worked in silence, half ignoring each other. Alfred wondered if she wanted to speak to him as much as he wanted to speak to her. But until he learned to control these dangerous urges to blurt out everything he knew about Batman, Alfred would have to keep his mouth shut.


	7. Chapter 6: Telltale

**Chapter 6 - Telltale**

The next morning was wet and rainy. I had planned on working in the garden to keep away from all the Waynes and my lying uncle, but it looked like that wasn't happening, so I put on my work clothes and headed out to find the most remote corner I could.

What I found was the east wing.

The east wing of the third floor held little more than unused guest bedrooms and storage space. And, to my twisted glee, it was absolutely filthy. I had something to do all day long. I gathered some cleaning supplies from the kitchen, started up my favorite playlist, and got to work.

The morning passed with no interruptions, no visitors, no awkward conversations. I was perfectly and peacefully alone. I dusted and vacuumed and piled laundry at the top of the stairs and scrubbed windows for the first time in what had to be decades. Pop music bounced in the background and kept me on my toes. I thought to myself, I could do this all day and never get bored. Never be bothered. Never have to worry about secrets.

I finished the second bedroom and my playlist simultaneously. I wandered into the next room and stood at the window, listening to the rain while I searched for some new music. The storm was beautiful, really—a mild thunderstorm, the kind I could never get enough of, with soft, rolling thunder and brilliant bright flashes of lightning.

And then… everything went silent.

I thought it was the storm, that it had just stopped suddenly. But my eyes proved that theory wrong. Lightning continued to flash; it was the thunder that was missing. Then I thought my ears had popped or something. I tried yawning, I tried rubbing them. But the sound wouldn't come back.

I looked down and hit the first song I saw on my phone. I saw the pause turn to play, watched the bar start to count seconds. But still no sound.

In moments, panic settled over me. I started slapping the sides of my head, feeling the thud as my hands hammered into my ears, but not hearing a thing. I worked my jaw, let my vocal chords buzz, gently at first, then harder and harder as I tried to hear them, straining for any semblance of sound. In the end, none of it mattered. It only took a minute for me to realize what had happened.

I had gone deaf.

This had happened to Mom. I had been there, visiting her in the hospital. We were having a normal conversation, and then her face went white. She did the same things I did, trying to get her ears working again. And then she just sat there, watching my lips move as I asked her what was wrong. Then she started trying to talk, but she stopped quickly; it must have been strange, trying to speak and being unable to hear yourself. At last, she managed one thing: doctor. She started screaming "doctor" over and over again until the doctor came, and he herded me out of the room.

I didn't understand. Until now.

I couldn't hear _anything_. Not the rain, not the thunder, not my own heartbeat. I could feel it, in my head, pounding, pumping blood, working the way it should. But I couldn't _hear_ it. Why weren't my ears working? Where was my hearing?

Would I be deaf for the rest of my life? No music ever again? No Tchaikovsky at Christmas, Dad's favorite tradition? Or Keane in the car, like Mom used to play? Would I never hear Alfred's voice again?

Would I have to live in this endless, paralyzing silence… forever?

A tear escaped my eye. It felt like the rain looked, running down the windows, washing out the clarity of the world. I stood still and stiff, and silent, staring at the rain, wishing the sound would come back.

Of course, the ancient light bulb would choose then to go out.

I didn't hear the pop as it went, and it was so dark so suddenly, I felt a flash of terror as I wondered whether I'd been stricken blind as well. But then my eyes registered the light from the window. It flared once, twice, as the lighting shot down from the clouds. It hurt to look at.

I reached for the bed and sat down hard, raising a little cloud of dust. I pulled my knees to my chest and hid my face behind them. If I just waited long enough, maybe my hearing would come back. But as minutes dragged by, and nothing changed, I began to despair.

No, despair wasn't it; this was terror. A second attack, as the doctors had taken to calling them. It proved I had what killed Mom and Dad - a disease that, so far as the scientists knew, had no target; it simply went to war on whatever it came across, and the attacks could be anything from a stinging toe to a stroke.

And I'd be dead in two years tops.

My breath shuddered in my lungs as I thought this. I had been faced with death before, and I feared it for what it could do. It had stolen years of my life, broken my family, and destroyed my world. I wanted nothing more than to get away from death. I didn't want to think about it anymore. I hid from it the only way I could, curled into a ball on a dusty bed in an unused fourth floor guest room.

And there I lay. One, two, three minutes. Four. Five.

 _CRASH!_

I jumped out of my skin as the sounds of the storm burst against my eardrums. In an instant, my fear turned to elation. I could hear again! I could hear! I laughed, full and loud, letting it ring in my head like the sound of bells. It felt so good to be back!

I lay back on the bed, gasping in breath after breath, listening to the whoosh of the air as it went in and out of my lungs, relishing the drumbeat of blood rushing through my head. I was so alive, and I had never even noticed.

How could I let go of this?

My laughter became harder to force out. I felt fear creeping back into my heart, destroying my moment of triumph. I was well and alive, so very alive, but death was waiting for me. I could almost see him, perched on the end of the bed, watching with longing in his eyes.

When did Death become a _he_?

With a snarl of frustration, I sat up and pounded my head. Stop thinking about it. Nothing could make it better, so stop making it worse.

I launched myself off the bed, grabbed the top sheet, and wrenched it off, dust flying through the air like sparks. I put all my fear and turmoil into stripping the bed; then I moved on to the next room, and the next, scrubbing windows, scouring desks, pounding pillows.

I didn't stop until Dick came and found me, announcing it was time for lunch. As I came down the stairs, lugging behind me not one but _three_ bags of dirty laundry, I tried to convince myself that I should tell Alfred. I tried forming a script in my head, and thought out scenario after scenario, but nothing played out the way I wanted. Alfred would never take this calmly, and the last thing I wanted was to see him worry over me—more than he already did, anyway.

The secret had to be kept, or this sweet and simple new life I was trying to lead would be dashed to pieces. Death couldn't win.

/

Alfred was way past worried. It had been two days since his row with Samantha, and he hadn't seen her for a full minute at a time since then. The Waynes hadn't gotten more than a passing glimpse. It was Friday now, the day before her free day, when Alfred would likely see even less of her. Was she really trying to avoid the entire household? And how on earth was she succeeding?

Alfred knew this behavior couldn't be healthy. A confrontation and a good talk were in order. All he had to do was get her to stand still for ten minutes.

He tried to nab her at breakfast, when she slipped in to grab one of the double chocolate muffins he had made specially to lure her in.

"Samantha?" he began, reaching for her arm. "Is everything…?"

"Fine," Samantha said with her usual smile, dancing out of his reach. She grabbed two muffins, stuffed one in her mouth, and caught Alfred off guard with a one-armed hug. She then vanished for the remainder of the morning.

Alfred sighed and cleaned up. At least she ate the muffins.

Samantha appeared again a full hour after lunchtime. Alfred didn't get a chance to speak; she rushed in the door, rattled off a list of things she had already cleaned, told him what she planned to do next, stuffed a sandwich in her mouth, and left.

Alfred sighed as the door swung shut. "Good to see you, too, Samantha. Yes, I'd love to talk with you about everything that's going on. No, you don't need to work yourself to death on my account. Goodbye, Samantha. Have a nice day."

How was she doing this? She couldn't seriously think this was helpful.

He thought he might have a little more luck at dinner, but she didn't take the time to sit and eat, even though Alfred had spent a lot of time and energy getting everyone to come to the table. Instead, she snuck into the dining room when everyone was done, filled up a plate, and ran off again. Alfred frowned, realizing he only had one more chance to catch her before the day was over.

That night, Alfred waited outside Samantha's bedroom door for an hour, pushing his luck by staying a full five minutes after he was called to the Batcave. But Samantha was either not in her room or refused to come out. Alfred made his way to the secret entrance with a heavy heart. Even after only three days, he missed his meadowlark.

Alfred slipped into Bruce's office and pushed the door halfway closed. He walked up to the grandfather clock; the hands were a full hour past the appointed time.

As Alfred moved to reset the hands, he felt odd, as if someone were watching him. He glanced at the door but saw no one; there was nobody at the window either. But just to be safe, Alfred pulled out his handkerchief and pretended to scrub the wood of the clock.

After thirty seconds, he decided it was safe; he quickly turned the hands back an hour, to 10:47. He held it there for the count of three; then, almost too quietly to hear, gears began to click and whirr, big gears that weren't common in your typical grandfather clock. It slid away from the wall, revealing a hidden door and an elevator shaft.

With a last glance at the door, Alfred disappeared behind the clock. The elevator took him all the way down, through the dark into the dim light of the Batcave. As he stepped out, Bruce looked up from pulling on his boots.

"What took you so long?"

"I was waiting to see if I could catch my niece, sir," Alfred said. "She's been avoiding me for three days straight."

"Odd," Bruce said, putting on his cape. "I wouldn't expect someone like Sam to avoid anyone, especially not her family."

"She's probably just busy," Tim suggested. "I've seen her walking around with buckets and brooms all the time. Wayne Manor is cleaner than ever, with two Pennyworths around."

Alfred frowned. "I… haven't been doing much. She doesn't leave anything for me to do."

"She could wear herself out that way," Bruce said with concern. "You should talk to her…"

"What do you think I've been doing?!" Alfred snapped. Then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Master Bruce. I'm just not happy about the way things are between me and her."

"I understand." Bruce pulled up his cowl. "I'm afraid I'll have to cut this conversation short, Alfred. We should get going."

Alfred nodded. "Of course, sir. What do you have planned for tonight?"

/

My new passionate drive to keep my hands busy and my uncle at arm's length led me to a new hobby: hiding. Every time a Wayne or my uncle came tromping around a corner, I'd throw myself into a closet or under a desk and wait for them to pass. This habit produced unexpected results. I noticed the Waynes exhibiting rather strange behavior, like Tim wearing an ankle brace when I knew he hadn't been doing anything physical, or Bruce wandering around rambling to himself. I caught one suspicious conversation, which started out harmless enough, but took an unexpected turn. I heard Tim and Damian arguing over a computer game while I was cleaning one of the bathrooms. They clearly didn't know anyone was eavesdropping, because out of the blue, Damian said something I knew I wasn't supposed to hear.

"I refuse to believe you could be better than me at anything, Drake," Damian said. "I was trained in every conceivable art by my mother, and that includes all areas of technology. What did your mother teach you, other than not to drool on yourself?"

I had never heard anything about _the Mother_. I knew better than to ask, but I couldn't help being curious. I listened closer.

"I will point out that your mother had other motives than giving you the upper hand in a videogame," Tim said.

"I thought we promised not to discuss this."

"You brought her up."

"You won't let it go."

"Fine, I'll stop." Tim paused. "I am better than you, though. I won, fair and square."

"You cheated."

"Yeah, right. _I_ cheated."

"You did. I simply haven't figured out how yet."

"You work on that."

They moved out of my hearing range, leaving me sitting in a dark bathroom with a wet rag in my hand and about fifty questions buzzing in my head. The Mother didn't sound much like the elegant lady with kind eyes and gentle hands I had envisioned. In fact, Damian sounded desperate to _not_ talk about her.

Something was off. But that single snippet of conversation proved little. There were other signs that led me to believe the secret went much deeper than Damian's parentage.

The next unexpected clue found me on Thursday, when I was picking up Damian's laundry. As I opened the door to walk out, I heard Tim's voice next door. I knew for a fact that that was Dick's room, not his, so what was he doing in there? I set the laundry aside and put my ear to the wall of Damian's room. It was hard to hear anything, but I managed to catch a few important phrases.

"...would've thought he'd double back?"

"Well, at least he's branching out from engagement rings…"

"...this time?"

"Acid. Hydrofluoric, too… wealthy benefactor."

"...choosing other kinds of… more dangerous."

"Yeah… should go."

I heard Dick's door open, and Tim leave. I sat down at Damian's desk, trying to make sense of what I had heard. They were talking about someone, and apparently someone dangerous. Someone using acid, who was supposed to "double back," and had a wealthy benefactor? It sounded an awful lot like a conversation about one of Gotham's signature maniacs. That didn't sound like the sort of thing a couple billionaire kids would hold secret conversations about.

Still, this was Gotham. Everybody talked about maniacs, in secret and in public. I still knew there was more to the puzzle, so I kept my head down and my ears open.

Then, a little later in the afternoon, I got my best clue yet. I went into Dick's room to clean the windows. By accident, I dropped a soaking wet rag on his computer. I grabbed it up in a hurry, toggling the mouse to make sure it was alright.

The first thing that appeared on the screen was some sort of fancy looking word program. At the top, there was a list of letters, and below it those letters were arranged into a million different combinations. I glanced at the five letters typed into the boxes at the top: S, N, N, M, A. It didn't look like there were many coherent results.

Okay, so Dick had super fancy decoding software on his computer. Could it be for some school project? I shook my head. That couldn't be it. This kind of software was supposed to be expensive and hard to use. Why would Dick Grayson have it?

Maybe the Waynes were undercover agents or detectives. Maybe they were working with the GCPD. Dude, what if they were working with Batman?! Nightwing had shown up in the kitchen…

As soon as I realized how far-fetched these solutions were, I made a face and turned back to my work. Bruce was a billionaire, so money would hardly be an issue; Dick probably did this sort of thing for fun. Why exactly this would be fun for him, or where he got those five letters specifically, I had no idea. But I couldn't let my wild imagination blow him up into some crazy character.

I washed the windows and left, five little letters swimming around my head. I couldn't stop thinking about them, and I lay in bed that night playing with different combinations and sequences. Nothing much came of it. There was only one vowel. Manns? Snamn? Mnasn? As my attempts got more and more ridiculous, I reminded myself that I didn't care about the code, and rolled over to try to go to sleep, still mouthing to myself over and over, "Samnn? Smann…"

That got me to Friday night. It was the third night in a row I had eaten dinner in my room. I ate out on the balcony and stared at the gardens, forcing myself to make up new mental games to keep myself from stressing over my inevitable next attack. The more stressed I looked, the more Alfred would worry. The more stressed I felt, the harder I would have to work to stick that slap-happy grin on my face whenever I passed my uncle or the Waynes in the halls. It was best to just not think about it. I let the sunset fill my eyes and drown my mind.

Just as I finished my dinner and was getting up to take my dishes to the kitchen, I heard a quiet knock on my door. I knew that knock; it was one of those dainty, polite, but firm little knocks Alfred always used.

Rats. Don't answer; maybe he'll go away.

"Samantha, dear, if I could come in for a moment…?"

I pressed my lips together, my hands shaking as I tried to keep my fork from clinking against the plate. Go away, go away…

But he stayed for a while. And he kept talking. "Samantha, I know we had a bit of a row; I want to make amends. I don't enjoy being constantly estranged from my own family." A pause; I bit my lip. "Dear, please, I just want to talk to you. I miss seeing you. Samantha, won't you please let me in?"

He stayed out there for a whole hour, and I had to sit on my balcony in the chilly night breeze, trying to keep my silverware from clanking together. Finally, after an eternity, I heard the telltale ding of a phone notification. Alfred sighed.

"Samantha…? Love… look, I have to go now, but I want to speak with you soon, alright? … alright, then… goodnight, Samantha."

I frowned at my dirty dishes. Where did he have to go at this time of night? It was almost nine o'clock. I realized I had rather enjoyed listening to him. No matter how much I wanted to protect him from whatever was going on with me, I couldn't stop myself from missing him.

I stared down at my half-eaten dinner; I couldn't finish it for the pit that was growing in my stomach. After three days alone, I really wanted to be with people again. I was lonely. I could go after Alfred. I could tell him I missed him, and we could hang out, maybe have some tea.

Only he said he needed to go. Where was he going? And why did he have to go without me?

Was he on his way to a Wayne family movie night?

That did it. I got up, leaving my dishes behind and rushing to the door. Whatever they did behind my back while I slept, be it a movie night or… I don't know, a book club or late night cross country runs, I would be there with them this time.

And Alfred would lead me to them.

I let myself silently out of my room. One of the perks of living in a fancy mansion, all the hinges were state of the art and never squeaked. Alfred was just rounding a corner, so I ran down the hall after him. He led me to the first floor, and the hallway where all the offices were. Odd. So, what, the Waynes threw office parties when I was asleep? I really knew nothing about billionaires.

Alfred went up to one of the doors and slipped through. I recognized the door to Bruce's office. The one I was forbidden to clean. Maybe Alfred was the only one allowed to clean Mr. Wayne's private office. Maybe Bruce was more eccentric than I had first thought. But the shiver up my spine said otherwise. Bruce didn't want me in that room for a reason, and tonight, I was going to find out what that reason was. I crept up to the door and peeked inside.

Alfred was standing in front of the grandfather clock. He glanced around the room suspiciously, his eyes falling on the slightly open door. They almost met mine, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. Then he reached for the clock. He did exactly what I had been planning to do before Bruce surprised me: he moved the hands.

Alfred held down the hour hand for a couple seconds. Then, I heard a click, not like any click that usually comes from a clock. And then, before my eyes… the clock started to move.

It rumbled and creaked slowly to the side, leaving an opening just wide enough for a very buff and fairly tall man - such as Bruce Wayne. Alfred fit through easily; as soon as he did, the clock moved back into place.

I stood there blinking for a moment. What had I just seen? There was an actual factual secret passageway in Bruce Wayne's office! This went way beyond eccentric. Maybe there was a whole network of them inside the walls that Alfred used to get around the house. And he hadn't told me? How rude.

I realized that this was possibly the greatest discovery I had made in my time here. After all the suspicious things I had caught from the boys, this seemed like a beacon, leading me toward the final clue that would tie all of it together. The shivery feeling down my spine went from mildly nagging to excitingly urgent. I had to know what was behind that clock.

I pushed the door open and moved in.

Okay. The hands on the clock face were pointing to 10:48. I had probably stood outside the door for about a minute after Alfred went through. So, the time that unlocked whatever secret passage was behind the clock had to be… 10:47? I moved the minute hand back one space and waited.

 _Click._

A roguish grin spread across my face as the gears began to turn, and the grandfather clock moved aside. This was the most incredible thing ever. I felt like a super spy.

Behind the clock, there was a small space to stand in, big enough for about two people. To one side of the space was a narrow elevator shaft, with no elevator. Alfred had probably taken that. On the other side was a staircase, so narrow I could reach out and touch both walls with my hands flat. It travelled down into darkness, just begging me to follow.

I did.

There were a lot of stairs. The long descent gave me time to think. The grandfather clock was a door. It opened at 10:47. What was so special about 10:47? It seemed pretty random. Then, behind the secret door, there were two ways to get down… _down._ As in, under Wayne Manor. As far as I knew, the farthest under the manor you could get was the basement, and I'd already been there. That meant there was something even further down. Like what? A cave? It looked like a cave. This far down, the stairs were made of rock.

What would the Waynes hide in a cave under their house? Lamborghinis? A private jet? A secret underground party room they'd forgotten to tell me about where they held cave raves?

Or worse… what if they were hiding something bad? Maybe big, destructive weapons or a death ray machine. Maybe this cave was the evil doppelganger of Wayne Enterprises. What if the Waynes were working for a gang, like the ones that loved Gotham City so much? What if they were suppliers for supervillains?

I didn't want to think badly of the Waynes. I couldn't think badly of Alfred. But the further down I went, and the darker it got, the more I worried.

I could be getting into more trouble than I bargained for.

And then… I saw a light. I was almost at the bottom.

Keeping to the shadows, I inched to the edge of the doorway. I sucked in my breath and let it out. Here we go. I peeked around the edge.

My jaw dropped.

That was not a Lamborghini.

There was a car, not ten feet from me, parked on the edge of a cliff. And I _knew what it was_. I had seen it, on the news, in the papers. That was the _Batmobile_!

No. Way. The Waynes were working for Batman.

"Of course, sir. What do you have planned for tonight?"

Alfred. I pressed myself against the wall, watching him walk across the cave. He was walking toward a raised platform. And there was a computer up there. If it could even be called a computer; it was huge! It had three screens that wrapped around a ginormous dashboard. It looked like the control pad for a rocket launcher. And someone was sitting at the computer.

 _Batman_.

Even from this far away, I knew. The dark cape draped over the side of the chair. The cowl with the pointed ears. Even the way he sat, how he carried himself. That was Gotham's own, genuine, favorite son - my Batman. Here, in this cave, talking to my uncle. Like, twenty yards from me. I hoped I wasn't dreaming. This was too incredible to wake up from.

And then, it got better.

"Hopefully, something more productive than last night's encounter," said another voice. And out of nowhere, a kid walked up to the computer. That was Robin! _The_ Robin! Batman's sidekick, the unkillable, the ultimately awesome, the Boy Wonder!

Then three more people showed up. And all of a sudden, that night in the kitchen made so much more sense.

Nightwing. He was here. Nightwing and… oh, I could never remember these guys' names. I'd only seen them here and there… they were both "Red Something." Red Helmet? Red Helmet and Red Wings.

"Last night was unexpected," Nightwing said. "We need to be prepared this time."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Red Helmet said. That really didn't sound right. Maybe it was Redhead. "Do you have a plan to go with that confident attitude?"

Funny… I could've sworn I'd heard that voice before.

"We split up again," Batman said. "But we're going to be stretched a little thin."

"We could call in Batgirl again," Nightwing said.

"I did. She's already in position. The rest of us should move out. Nightwing, you'll take Clarence Street, from Fifth to Hawthorne."

"You got it."

He turned… toward me.

Oh, no. All the vehicles were over here.

My heart started to pound as he sprinted closer and closer. In seconds, he would see me. Why was I afraid of being caught?

Suddenly, I felt a surge of _deja vous_. I was back in the gym, playing basketball with the boys. And watching Dick sprint toward me, dribbling hard and fast, coming in for a shot…

Nightwing ran like Dick. In fact… stride for stride, they looked exactly the same. And the hair, too, and the shape of the face… and when he talked, he sounded just like…

Okay, whoa. Mask or no mask, I knew who that was.

Nightwing… was Dick Grayson.

And in that instant, it all fell into place. Dick was Nightwing. That voice I recognized… I had recognized it before, in John, the family friend. John was the Red Helmet. Which meant the other two had to be Tim and Damian. Yes, that was definitely Damian, standing with that distinct posture. And Batman… holy cow, Batman was Bruce Wayne!

The Waynes weren't just working for the Batfam. They were the Batfam.

As this hit home, I realized that I had moved out into the open, as if in a trance. And Nightwing had slowed to halt, his jaw hanging to his chest. And the whole Bat family was staring at me, Alfred included. And my heart was pounding, really hard. _Ka-doom, ka-doom, ka-doom..._

Too hard. This wasn't normal heart pounding. Every beat took my breath away, like I was standing in front of a sub-woofer at a rock concert. Something was wrong, way wrong.

I was having an attack. In front of everyone.

I couldn't do anything. I had no choice, no ability to hide it. My heart was going too fast. And all of a sudden, it didn't matter that I was standing in the Batcave, face to face with Nightwing, who was Dick Grayson. I was scared.

I felt my knees hit the cave floor. Nightwing - Dick, Dick was running toward me. He caught me before I fell to the floor, and I could feel my heartbeat slamming against my ribs, vibrating through my whole body like a warning signal. He was carrying me somewhere, but I had closed my eyes, trying to calm myself, trying to get my heart to slow. It wouldn't work. I was losing control of my body. I was scared, I was so scared…

I felt a hand on my arm. I blinked open my eyes, just for a second. I saw a man standing over me.

Alfred.

I was fading out. My eyelids drooped. But even in my terror, I felt safe. Alfred was here. He would keep me safe. He always would.

Why hadn't I told him sooner?

/

Alfred put the syringe aside, finally allowing his fingers to shake as he let it go. "She's stable."

Dick stood stiffly next to the medical bed, one hand still clenched around Samantha's arm. "What the heck just happened?"

"Supraventricular tachycardia," Bruce said, his fingers testing Samantha's pulse. "Likely caused by physical fatigue, possibly caffeine."

"She never drinks coffee," Alfred said weakly. He lifted a hand to his mouth, staring in shock at his little girl. When Tim offered him a seat, Alfred took it.

"Anxiety is sometimes a factor, too," Bruce said.

"Grief?" Tim asked.

"Not likely. She could have been overstimulated by…" Bruce frowned. "Alfred, how did she get down here?"

Alfred shrugged. Bruce's face softened as he noticed Alfred's state.

"She'll be fine," Bruce said quickly. "We've got her stable; now that we know, we can keep her monitored. Has she shown signs of heart problems before?"

Alfred looked up. "Bruce… I don't think that's it."

"Don't think… oh."

Bruce looked down at Samantha, and Alfred could see him start to understand.

"Her parents," Bruce said softly. "This is what killed them."

"Wait, wait, wait." Tim stared at Bruce. "What are you talking about? How did they die?"

"Yeah, you never mentioned that," Dick said, a little heatedly.

"It's because it was personal information that it wasn't my place to tell," Bruce said. "But I suppose… since it's our problem now… Alfred…"

Alfred sighed heavily, sagging into his chair.

"Several years ago, Samantha's parents went on an overseas trip to travel the world for one month. Everything seemed fine when they came back, but after a while… things started happening. Odd medical issues that nobody could explain. None of them could be linked to another, and none seemed caused by anything we could pinpoint - at least, until the year before her father passed. That was when the researchers finally discovered that every event, every attack, was preceded by a surge in brain activity. A surge that could not be predicted or prevented."

"This one makes sense, though," Tim cut in. "Like Bruce said, she's been physically fatigued, and probably anxious because of her parents. This could be a singular, isolated event."

"It's too much of a stretch," Alfred said. "She's never had heart problems before. In fact, when they did tests on her to see if they could find anything wrong that they could connect back to her parents, they found her in perfect health, and with a heart stronger than many people her age. It's an impossible disease, and so far as records show, her parents were the only two people on earth to ever contract it. Until… now."

He stared at the still and silent face of his beloved niece and tried to imagine her going through years of tests and experiments, lying in a hospital bed with wires attached, weak and quiet… lifeless. He couldn't do it. He couldn't see her that way, not in a million years.

"That explains it," Tim said gently.

"What?" Alfred asked, turned on him. "Are you saying you knew?"

Tim held up his hands. "No! No. I just… had some concerns. There were two days that she seemed a little… off. Like on Sunday. I met her in the hallway, and she was going to do laundry; and a little while later, I walked down the same hallway, and the laundry basket was just sitting there. She was nowhere in sight. I went looking for her and found her asleep. It didn't connect. Why would she abandon her work and just go to bed?" He nodded at her. "Now I know. She must have had another… experience, or whatever this is. And she seemed more down than usual two days later, on Tuesday-"

"The same day she seemed to vanish into her work," Alfred said. "How could she have hidden this from me? Why would she?"

"I can't claim to know," Dick said. "But something tells me she doesn't want to upset you, Alfred. She's constantly working, like she's trying to do your job for you."

"She asked me if I thought you were overworking yourself the other day," Damian piped up. "I could tell she was afraid of what the answer might be."

"And you're telling me all of this now?!"

"Alfred," Bruce said softly. "No one could have anticipated this. We just have to adjust. I have the resources to help her, as both Bruce Wayne and Batman. We can save her."

Alfred pushed back against a wave of despair. "I don't know if you can. The best doctors and physicians in the country were brought in to work on her parents, and they found nothing. I don't know how much more we can do than they did."

Bruce pulled his cowl on. "We will save her. That's a promise. I'll track down the files from her parents' cases. For now, stay with her. We'll use the coms to stay connected."

Alfred didn't have the heart to disagree. He nodded, and Bruce left, the boys all following in silence. All but one.

Tim crouched and put a hand on Alfred's knee. "If it's any consolation, the reason Sam didn't tell you sooner is because she cares about you. A lot. I can see it when she looks at you; you're all she has left. She was probably more afraid of causing you pain than she was of her condition."

"I'm afraid that's not terribly consoling, Master Timothy," Alfred said stiffly.

"It's motivation," Tim said, standing up. "Motivation to keep her alive - one of the purest hearts in Gotham. I promise, I'll do everything I can to help once I get back."

As Tim chased after his brothers, Alfred reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of Samantha's face. She looked so peaceful. But he knew that under that serene expression lay unfathomable pain and suffering, most of it barely glimpsed.

She had found her own way into the Batcave. He had discovered the truth behind her strange behavior. That put an end to keeping secrets. From now on, however long they had, they would know everything and share everything.

He wouldn't waste a second with his little girl.


	8. Chapter 7: Hills and Valleys

**Chapter 7 - Hills and Valleys**

When I woke up, I thought four things.

One: Bruce Wayne is Batman.

Two: I'm in the Batcave.

Three: I'm dying.

Four: Alfred knows.

A weight pressed down on my heart. I didn't know whether to be elated, frightened, angry, or a befuddling mix of the three. But I knew one thing for certain: nothing would ever be normal again.

I took a moment to calm down and observe my surroundings. The Batcave went on forever, up and down and off into the distance. A swarm of bats hung from the stalactites, and a couple fluttered around the computer that presided over the hideout at large like a commanding officer. There were artifacts to see everywhere, including, but not limited to, a giant penny, a model T-rex, several Batvehicles, and glass cases filled with old Batman and Robin uniforms. I made a mental note to try one on later.

I was lying on a bed in what appeared to be the medical ward. My heart was beating normally again, but I still felt nervous, like any sudden movement would set it off. I glanced to my right.

Alfred was sitting in a chair, fast asleep. He looked so old and tired. The wrinkles around his eyes weren't from smiling, and there seemed to be more lines to his forehead than before. Adding Batman to the list of things he was carrying on his shoulders, I couldn't imagine how he could still function. He had to be… I don't know, a hundred and fifty? Okay, more like eighty. Maybe. He was a miracle of nature, to be able to handle a house full of boys, a crumbling extended family life, and nights full of crime all at once.

But could he handle this? Could he handle my illness on top of it all?

As I was watching him, he stirred and woke up. Alfred took one look at me, and all the lines in his face got deeper.

"Samantha," he murmured. I couldn't tell if he was upset with me, or just too tired to say more. In any case, the sound of my name was like a mournful bell calling out my sentence.

"I'm okay," I tried.

"No, you're not."

I bit my lip. "Are you?"

Alfred rubbed his eyes. "I don't know."

My chest hurt again, but it wasn't because of an attack. It hurt to see my uncle so unsure, so unhappy, so full of heavy emotions. But one thing made the pain ease a little: I realized that those were the exact same things I had been feeling since my first attack. Seeing them in Alfred made me feel less alone. Some deep, cowardly part of me wanted to let him take all of my feelings and get this horrible weight off me.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," I said, shifting in the bed so I could sit facing my uncle. I met his eyes, and the grief there hit me like a shot. I flinched. "I wanted to tell you. I just didn't know how. I was sure you'd react… well, like this. And I knew you were carrying a lot of your own burdens, what with Mom and Dad… and the Waynes. I never expected this-" I nodded to the Batcave in all its glory. "But I guess this just adds to that burden even more. I didn't want to make it worse."

I stopped and waited, hoping he would say something. But he just sat there. I couldn't escape his gaze. Maybe he needed more of an explanation. I rambled on.

"I don't mean it like I want to hide things from you. I hate doing that. I was just trying to decide what to do, and then you found out on your own. I didn't want you to… to look at me like that! I want to live like I've been living, with you, just doing whatever I can, because I can, and I'm worried that if this is me for the rest of my life, then I'll never have that _hup_ -!"

Alfred rushed forward and grabbed me in a fierce hug. The lump in my throat relaxed into tears as his breath shivered in my ear.

"Samantha," he said, his voice catching. "My dear, beautiful girl. The only thing I ever wanted for my family, and for you, was safety and happiness. And now I've brought you into this… this den of pain and lies, and I've had to push you away to keep you from the truth. When all the while, I've only ever wanted to pull you closer."

I buried my face against his shoulder. "Alfred, will you please forgive me?"

"Only if you'll forgive me, for keeping you in the dark."

"Then it's a deal."

"Good. Good; I'm glad."

My breath was gentler now, the tears leaking from under my closed eyelids soft like rain. "I missed you."

Alfred smiled and held me out in front of him. "Then let's not be strangers anymore. No more secrets, no more lies. From now on, we live together in this house with nothing but the truth between us."

I nodded. "Agreed."

He kissed my forehead, then stood. "And as to worrying, I've been a butler for the Wayne family since before Master Bruce came into this world. I've got plenty of experience worrying, and it hasn't killed me yet, so you don't have to worry for me. Understand?"

"I understand."

He smiled. "I can tell it's hard. You're a worrier. It's a Pennyworth trait, I'm afraid. But it just means that we get the chance to care more than most people do."

My gaze drifted toward the stalactites. "On a happier note… how crazy is all of this? I could never, ever, in a million years have predicted this. That Bruce is _Batman_. And the boys are all Bat people - Damian is Robin, and Dick is Nightwing… you knew, didn't you? When he came into the kitchen that night?"

Alfred winked. "I know everything."

"You knew Nightwing was Dick, and still you had to watch us talk to each other like total dorks." I shook my head in disbelief. "You must think I'm such an idiot."

"No, actually, I think you're very clever for having figured it out on your own. The only other person I know of to have done that is Master Timothy, and he's the finest detective in Gotham, even over Batman. I don't know how you figured out the door, though…"

"I just watched you."

Alfred blinked. "Oh dear. Master Bruce isn't going to be happy about that."

"We won't tell him. No secrets between us, but the others are free game. Speaking of, where are they?" I asked, looking around the cave.

"Still out on patrol. It's four in the morning. Sun's still not up."

"Wow." I pushed the covers aside. "I feel like I've slept for days."

"Don't get up," Alfred said. "You just rest now."

"I'm fine, for now," I said, slinging my legs over the side of the bed. I swung them a bit and took a deep breath. "It's so quiet down here. I like it."

"I still feel jitters, having you here," Alfred said. "All this time, I've been working so hard to keep the cat in the bag; now that it's out, it feels… terribly dangerous, just talking about it out loud like this. And yet, it's strangely natural. It's like I knew you'd find out one day."

"Honestly, though. Bruce's secret hideout is underneath his house. How long was he supposed to keep that a secret?"

Alfred laughed, lifting my spirits. I had missed that sound.

The Batcave drew my eyes once more, and I found myself staring, taking everything in with eyes wide as dinner plates. Alfred seemed to notice my intense interest and asked, "Is there anything you want to know? Questions you need answered? No secrets now. You can ask anything."

I thought for a second. Then, of course, I realized there was only one question that needed asking.

"How did Bruce become Batman?"

Alfred nodded and settled himself in. "Now, that's a story that will take up some time."

/

The boys got back an hour and a half later, all with grim expressions. They all kept their masks on as they came to see me.

"Get any good results?" Alfred asked.

"None," Bat-Bruce said. He turned to me. "How are you?"

I grinned. "Don't worry, Bruce. I'm fit as a fiddle now."

Nightwing barely tried to conceal his look of surprise. "Um… Alfred?"

"It's alright, Master Richard," Alfred said. "She worked it out on her own. I told you she was clever."

"Does she know all of us?" Tim asked.

"Yes, Tim, I do."

Tim sighed and took off his mask. "Thank heavens. I was getting so sick of keeping that secret."

"Ditto," Dick said, removing his own mask. "How much does she know?"

"I've been filling her in these past couple of hours," Alfred said. "She's practically an expert by now."

"If I can remember everything," I said. "I never realized the Batfam was so big."

Damian grimaced. " _Batfam_?"

"Yeah, it's a thing. You know, Bat-family."

"I like it," said Dick.

Bruce removed his cowl. I was stunned to see that his hat hair was almost better than his normal hair. How much hair gel did he use? Or was it like Superman, where great hair was just another one of his superpowers? Oh, dude, Superman… did Bruce know…? Of course, he did; they were both in the Justice League. This just kept getting better!

"You probably have a lot of questions," Bruce said. "But first things first, I have to lay out the rules. You need to keep your head on, and stay alert at all times, and above all, keep quiet. This secret is dangerous, and the last thing I want is to put you at risk."

I stared at him, a bubble of humor festering in my chest. "Risk, huh? Yeah, I'm not at risk at all."

Bruce frowned. "Don't worry. We know. And from here on out, we promise to do everything we can to help. Tim, the computer is yours. I want you to get her parents' files up and start a list of known associates we could ask to help with this project."

"Yes, sir."

"For now," Bruce said, "I'll take you back upstairs. Do you think you can walk?"

"Yeah, I can walk. I'm not helpless." I got out of bed and immediately set out for the stairs. "You coming, Batman?"

I heard Alfred chuckle. "I think she'll be fine, Master Bruce."

Before I left the cave, I glanced quickly back at the boy in the red helmet. Red Hood, apparently. My mind seemed to be having trouble swallowing the fact that it wasn't "John" under there. There was no John.

That was Jason Todd, back from the dead.

Alfred had skimmed over that part of the story fairly quickly, mostly because I don't think he fully understands it himself. How could a person die, resurrect, and come out normal? How does one even get resurrected?

It was too much to process, so I shoved it into the bulging file cabinet titled "Denial." I would look at it later, when I could handle the concept that dead people could come back. Dead people can't come back. If they could, I'd still be living with my parents.

/

Nobody was afraid to talk in front of me anymore. They said anything and everything, and when they said nothing, I didn't feel left out. Rather, I felt included in some grand story I couldn't know all the details to yet. But I would, someday. I would.

I found out they were working on a case involving a jewelry thief prone to weaponizing everyday objects - including a ceramic mug, which explained Dick's hand, and the acid I had heard mentioned during Dick and Tim's conversation. As the boys listed out the objects he had used so far - objects which, by the way, perfectly matched the letters from the decoding program - a phrase popped into my head: odd job. Dick liked it, and it stuck. So, our thief: Oddjob.

I also learned that Babs was Batgirl, which made me like her even more. Naturally, I wanted to tell her that I knew, so Bruce invited her over for dinner Monday night, and I made a point of being the one to open the door for her. As she walked in, I smiled my widest smile.

"Glad you could come, Batgirl."

Her face was priceless. She shot a bewildered look at Dick, who was hovering behind me. His excited bouncing explained enough to calm Barbara's fears, and the shock fell away, to be replaced with joy. She flung her arms around me and squealed.

"Oh my gosh! I can't believe they told you! I hate secrets, I'm so glad you _know_!"

"Oh, they didn't tell me. I found out."

Babs made a face. "Uh oh. Who messed up?"

"That would be myself," Alfred sighed, shutting the door behind us. "I apparently led her to the cave by accident. But other than that, it was entirely Samantha."

"Wow," Barbara said. "Count me impressed. You have to tell me what gave it away, though. I'm kind of the security system around here. I need to stay updated."

"You got it."

I dragged her off to my room while Alfred finished making dinner. There, I told her all about the clues I found, the many details that tipped me off, and finally, the night I put all the pieces together. Of course, that led right into telling her about my… illness. I sped through the details, trying hard not to get bogged down in emotions. But knowing you have a disease that killed your parents and saying it out loud are two very different things.

I only glanced at Barbara's face a few times. It was solemn, her mouth drawn down at the corners, but her eyes patient. She only asked one question, right at the end.

"Are you scared?"

I blew out my breath and lay back on my bed. "I guess so. But I've lived with this for so long—this weird, impossible thing that hates me—I almost feel like it was inevitable."

"No." Babs sat next to me and squeezed my hand. "No, not inevitable. Just unlucky. Really unlucky, Sam. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay. And Bruce and Tim are already doing research."

"Yeah, I'd think. They'll do everything they can, Samantha. We'll take care of you."

I gripped her hand tight, feeling the tough calluses there that I could finally explain.

"Everything is so different now," I said. "Good and bad different. I don't really know how to stay sane."

"I'll help," Babs said. "You know I will. I'm here whenever you need me. Even if I'm out on patrol, you call, and I'll come running."

I closed my eyes and leaned against her, shoulder to shoulder. I felt closer to her on a brand new level now. And, after everyone's constant reassurance that they would do everything they could do to help, I was starting to feel more hopeful. Maybe I wasn't going to die. Maybe I was going to make it through this.

If anyone could save me, it was Batman.

/

Unfortunately, not everyone took my illness so well.

After Barbara had left, when everyone was going to bed, Alfred came into my room to say goodnight. I could tell something was bothering him; he kept pinching the bridge of his nose, pressing his fingers to the corners of his eyes.

"Is everything alright, Alfred?"

He sat on the bed and put his hand over mine. I could feel the emotion in his touch.

"Just fine, love." He smiled. It was painfully fake.

I pursed my lips. "Alfred, what's wrong?"

"Nothing at all. I just wanted to… say goodnight."

I looked up at him. "The last two nights, you weren't nearly this emotional. What are you worried about?"

Alfred took a deep breath. "I guess… tonight, it hit me properly, where all of this is going. I saw you talking with Miss Gordon and the boys – so natural with people your age – and I thought… I just thought it was beautiful."

"Alfred," I sighed. I got up and threw my arms over his shoulders. "I know it's not very comforting right now, but the boys and Bruce are going to do everything they can. If anyone can help, it's them."

"Oh, my beautiful girl." Alfred kissed the top of my head. "Don't you ever change. No matter what this sickness does to you, don't you dare let it change you from the caring and brave young woman I know you to be."

"I can do that," I said.

"Good." Alfred walked me to my bed. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to bring you breakfast in bed tomorrow. Just call it a treat from your old uncle."

"I wouldn't mind that. I'm still coming into work, mind you."

"Oh, I'm counting on it. Tomorrow's laundry day."

He got up and left, still wearing a brave smile. But I wasn't stupid; I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his strides seemed unnecessarily short, like he was holding himself back from sprinting. Alfred could say whatever he wanted; it couldn't mask the fact that he was more worried than anyone else.

I frowned and settled into bed, my heart sore. For a second, I wished I could take it all back. I'd give up knowing all of their secrets just to see Alfred happy again.

/

Alfred closed Samantha's door and had to fight down a wave of sadness. He wiped a tear from his cheek, took a deep breath, and straightened his shoulders.

"Alfred."

Alfred jumped as Bruce appeared behind him. "That's ruddy annoying, you know that?"

Bruce laughed. "I do. That's why I usually save it for the bad guys." He nodded to the door. "She okay?"

"For now, sir. She's cheerful, as usual. She's honestly comforting _me_."

Bruce dug his hands into his pockets. "Listen. The boys and I are going on patrol, but Tim is willing to take the computer. You can stay with her tonight."

"You're sure you can handle Gotham without my help?"

"No," Bruce laughed. "But I think we can manage one night."

Alfred gave him a grateful nod. "Thank you, Master Bruce."

Bruce smiled. "I've made some calls, and Barry Allen's agreed to come in tomorrow. He's going to bring a couple physical experts in from STAR Labs to take a look at her…"

"That's very kind of you, sir," Alfred interrupted. "But… I'll have to ask you to call them off."

"Why?"

"To put it lightly, there's nothing they can do that hasn't already been tried and failed. I don't want to force her back into a world of hospitals and doctors and tests when there's not going to be any good results."

"We can't give up, Alfred. We can do better…"

"Exactly the point, sir. _We_ can do better. Which is why I'd prefer to keep the research and tests limited to what we can achieve. With my medical training and the minds of multiple world class detectives working to save Samantha, we're going to get much better results than any ordinary lab."

"STAR Labs isn't an ordinary lab."

"And Samantha's illness doesn't stem from the speed force, sir. Simply put, until there is nothing left that we can do, we should work on this with what we have."

"I understand. I'll tell Barry we're good. He'll be disappointed, though. There's a lot of scientists there who would love to do research on this."

"Well, you can tell them, then, that my niece is not a bacterium in a petri dish, and I'll thank them to keep to their microscopes."

Bruce grinned. "Duly noted. Take care, Alfred."

As he jogged off, Alfred wished he could call Bruce back, beg him to call in STAR Labs, the best and brightest of the science world, heck, bring in Lex Corp if he must. He would do anything to remove Samantha from danger. But Alfred couldn't stop seeing her like a bird in a cage - silent and unmoving, living but lifeless, with no future but endless imprisonment.

He couldn't sentence her to that.

They had what they needed here in the Batcave. They had enough money to do their own research. That was one of the perks of working for Bruce Wayne, and by extension, Batman. Supplies were never limited. And Alfred would trust no one with his little girl but himself.

/

I spent more and more time in the medical ward of the Batcave, strung up like a marionette and surrounding by beeping monitors. Bruce claimed they were gathering information. I never realized my body had so much information to give.

If the advanced courses in puppetry weren't bad enough, that ugly feeling of uselessness started to creep in. I overheard a lot of talk about Oddjob, as well as several other minor occurrences, and ended up gathering a lot of information, but I could do nothing to contribute. I came down to the cave late one night when I couldn't sleep, and found Alfred frantically searching satellites for Dick's position, yelling into his mouthpiece.

"Nightwing, come in! Nightwing!"

I rushed to his side. "Alfred, what happened?"

"I've lost his signal," Alfred said. "He dropped off the radar while fighting some thugs in an alleyway off Gate Street."

"Can I help?"

"No, no… Nightwing, are you receiving?"

"I could-"

"Not now!"

Alfred tuned me out completely after that, even though I stood there for a good ten minutes. I heard when Nightwing picked up his com and apologized for dropping it during the fight. I saw Alfred's relief, the way his whole body relaxed as if he had made it through some terrible trial. He was so _worried_ , all the time, and he wouldn't even let me try to help.

I tried to avoid the Batcave during patrol after that. I still had trouble sleeping; every time I started to relax, I would feel my heartbeat, or my shoulder would twinge, or my leg would ache, and I would tense again, expecting another attack. But I forced myself to stay in bed, and slowly, very slowly, I managed to settle back into a sleep pattern. On Sunday night, I finally got to bed at a good time, and I woke up Monday morning refreshed and ready.

I was the only one who felt that way. Lo and behold, when I came into the dining room, there were droopy faces all around. I sighed.

"Long night?"

"Yeah. Guess who finally showed up," Jason said.

"Oddjob?"

"Give the lady a prize."

Barbara was here. I filled up a plate and sat next to her. "Hey, Babs."

She gave me a tired smile. "Hey, Sam."

"How'd they rope you in?"

"I roped myself in. I'm the one who saw him."

"So, what happened?"

"He came, and he went," Dick said. "Babs gave us the heads up that he was at James Port Jewelers, and we got there as fast as we could, but…"

"He got in and out before we could do anything," Tim finished. "And all he stole was a bracelet charm."

"Same kind as last time, though," Bruce said. "It's a new pattern. He's stealing limited edition Batman charms with inset yellow topaz."

"Mm. So this is a personal matter."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I think he's aiming for the jewels."

"Not to mention they're limited stock," Dick said. "Which means they're expensive."

"And trackable," Tim added.

"You do realize I was joking, right?"

"Yes," Dick said, "but Bruce isn't allowed to acknowledge humor. It's in the Batcode."

"Gotcha."

Barbara sighed. "I guess we should get tracking, then. Shall I…?"

"The computer is yours, Miss Gordon," Bruce said.

Barbara smiled. "One day, that'll be written down on actual paper."

"You wish," Tim muttered.

As Babs got up, I rose, too. "Hey, can I come with?"

"Of course! That is, if Alfred doesn't need you."

I glanced at my uncle. He was squinting at me, like he was trying to read me for ulterior motives. I squirmed.

"Can I go?"

Alfred set his jaw. "Very well. I'll come down later to do some tests, if you're willing to wait for me."

My shoulders slumped. "Do I have to?"

"Do you want to get better?"

"Fine, I'll wait."

Alfred shot me a fleeting smile. I hardly got any real, genuine smiles from him anymore.

Babs tapped me on the shoulder. "You coming?"

"Y-yeah." I tore my eyes away from Alfred's mournful expression and followed my friend.

/

I swiveled around in the Bat-swivel-chair that sat in front of the Batcomputer in the Batcave. "Is everything Bat-named in here?"

Barbara didn't look up from her rapidly typing fingers. "No, not everything. Feels like it sometimes, though. Batarangs, Batcomputer, Batmobile, Batcow…"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh, Damian hasn't introduced you to Batcow yet?" Babs grinned and nodded of into the depths of the cave. "He keeps her down here, somewhere. Saved her from getting butchered, I think. He's got a bit of an adoption problem. Much like his father."

"Huh. I should've known, after Pennyworth and Titus." I pulled my feet up onto the chair. "So why aren't the boys called the Batboys? Batmen Jr.? Batminis?"

"Because they're too proud to admit that they're direct copies of the Bat himself. I, on the other hand, don't have that problem. Hence, Batgirl."

"And if you ever reveal your secret identity, you can call yourself Babs-girl."

"Ha ha."

The computer pinged, and a soft female voice echoed through the caves. _Item located._

Barbara looked up. "Aha. We've hit our target."

I swiveled to look at the computer screen. "So, we know where all the special edition Batman pins are?"

"Yup. Looks like there are nine stores left that carry it. Huh… and get this. There's also a new shipment coming in for the three our man hit last night. I wonder where Oddjob will end up tonight?"

"He's been pretty inconsistent," I said. "First, he shows up every night, in a clear pattern, and then he vanishes for days. I wouldn't expect him to do the obvious."

"So, we would expect him to do the opposite of the obvious – attack one of the stores. We'll split up our resources and spread ourselves too thin to make a move if he does. Chances are, he'll still hit the shipment even if he goes for one of the stores."

Barbara and I looked at each other.

"What do we tell the boys?" I ask.

"I don't know. I bet Bruce will be able to come up with a better plan. I'll tell him the stats when he gets down here tonight."

Something that had been running around in the back of my head suddenly came to the surface. "Babs, do you think you can find that decoding program Tim's been working with?"

"Your wish is my command," Barbara said, clicking away at the buttons. In an instant, the same program I had seen on Dick's computer appeared on the screen.

"We have S, N, N, M, A. Five random letters. And nothing the program comes up with makes sense." Babs turned to me. "Why do you need this? You think you've figured something out?"

"Maybe. It just seems odd that he'd make his weapons so obvious. They're all such random things, it's like he's begging us to notice them. Like they're important."

"Which is why we've been running them through the decoder, yes, but if nothing's coming from it…"

"Well, he must not be done yet; we don't have all the pieces. But he's flaunting these random items so much, I'm certain they're meant to mean something. Possibly not a word like this, but definitely a code of some sort. And I'll bet it's a code that leads to something – probably a trap, but also possibly a bigger mystery or yet another clue; you know how the brainy types are."

Babs looked at me. "You're smart."

"Uh, no, I'm not. A ten-year-old who had watched enough TV could have told you he's leading us on. The boys got it weeks ago."

"No, but I mean, you're smart. You figured out that Bruce is Batman on your own. The only other person I know who's done that is Tim, and he's, like, light years beyond the rest of us. Even Batman."

"I'm just nosy. I figure things out that I shouldn't, and then I put two and two together."

"Exactly. That's called smart, Sam." Babs leaned back against the dashboard. "I think you could really help us out. Maybe not in a mask, but behind the scenes, you could totally solve mysteries and notice what we don't. You have the potential, you just need to use it."

I frowned and tapped the armrest. "Alfred won't let me."

"Why not?"

"Because he thinks I'm fragile. Or I get in the way. Something like that. Besides, today's the first day I've felt like I could really think. I haven't had much brain juice lately, what with… everything."

Babs hesitated. "How are you doing with all that? Being sick and all…"

"Being halfway dead, you mean." I pounded my fist into the chair. "I feel so useless. Like a ticking time bomb. I can't do anything but wait for the next attack, and when it comes, I just sit it out until it's over. I have no control! Over myself, over other people's reactions… I've lost everything."

Babs came around the chair and put her hands on my shoulders. "We will find a cure. I promise. It might take a while, but Batman never fails. And if Batman were to fail, he has us. We won't fail; as a family, we will never fail."

I looked up. "As a family?"

"Yeah. You're one of us now. Part of the Batfam."

I smiled. "Cool."

"You bet your boots it's cool. Now, I have to go. I want to set up extra security measures to try to get a scan of our guy. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Okay. See you tonight."

She walked off into the depths of the Batcave, leaving me alone with the computer. I spun the chair to face it, staring at the five-letter code on the screen.

Five letters… shouldn't there be a sixth from last night?

"Computer," I said slowly. "What did Oddjob use last night for his heist?"

 _Opening report file for 06/18/18._

A new window opened, showing a brief report of the previous night's events. I scrolled through until I found what I was looking for – the primary weapon. Turns out it was an anvil. Dick was right, he was getting more dangerous. I returned to the decoding program and typed in the letter A.

Aamnns?

That obviously wasn't it. There was one unscrambling that caught my eye, though. I squinted. _Nasman_. Was it possible that the next couple letters would be a B and a T? But then what would the S and the other N be there for? Maybe a possessive, _Batman's_. Or plural, _Batmans._ But that would be Bat _men_. Unless Oddjob didn't care about grammar. Still left the other N, though.

I sighed and closed the decoder and the report. Clearly, whatever coded clue Oddjob was sending us wasn't complete yet. But I had gotten one thing from all this.

The word wasn't finished; Oddjob was going to strike again. And we still hadn't gotten a single peek at his face. If we all spread out to different locations waiting for him, we'd never catch him.

But what if we narrowed down the locations?

The thought hit me like a bomb. If there was only one place for Oddjob to find what he was looking for, he'd have to go there; we'd have him cornered.

I sat up and started thinking. We would have to get everything to the docks; it would be impossible to stop a ship from coming into port. It would, however, be easy and simple to have a few stores move their stock for a night. All I had to do was pull the right strings.

So which strings? I could tell Bruce and have him Batman it up, tell the GCPD and all that. But would a bunch of jewelry stores be more likely to listen to a stranger in a mask, or a fellow man of business? Bruce Wayne would probably have more leverage.

As the idea formed into a plan, I leapt from my chair and ran for the elevator.

/

Alfred turned a corner to find Bruce wandering the halls with a book in his hand. He looked up, and his business face turned on like a switch.

"Alfred. How's everything going?"

"Fine, sir. Have you seen my niece about?"

Before Bruce could speak another word, who should come running around the corner but Samantha herself. She skidded to a halt when she caught sight of her boss, and a wide, breathless grin lit up her face.

"Bruce!" she cried. "I've got it! I know how to catch Oddjob!"

Bruce barely batted an eye. "Tell me."

"At the moment, we don't know where he's going to show up. But what if there was only one place that he could show up? If what he was looking for was concentrated in one spot?"

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "That would be good. Where did you have in mind?"

"The docks. There's a shipment of those same Batman charms coming in tonight, and it would be impossible to stop it from coming in. So we bring everything there, set it up like a trap. If he really wants these things, he'll have to come."

"The stores would have to be willing to move their stock. I could talk to Gordon as Batman, or…"

"Since jewelry stores are a little more likely to trust a businessman than a masked vigilante, I'd say perhaps try suggesting the scheme to the authorities as Bruce Wayne."

"Considering Bruce Wayne has been connected to Batman in the past, it wouldn't be a stretch to say he tipped me off."

"Exactly," Samantha said. "What do you think?"

Bruce was looking at her with a little too much pride. Alfred knew that look. It's how Bruce looked at his proteges when they did something right. Alfred's hands went cold.

"I think it's a great plan," Bruce said, a touch of the Bat growl in his voice. "I'll head over to the GCPD right now."

Samantha shifted her weight. "Could… could I come with?"

Bruce shook his head. "It's best if you aren't connected to this. Alfred, can you bring the Rolls to the front?"

"Right away, sir."

"Wait," Samantha said. "It was my plan. Can't I see it followed through?"

"No," Alfred snipped. "You're going to stay here, out of the spotlight, where you belong."

"It's for your own good, Sam," Bruce added.

"My own good? What, so I'm not safe if I so much as suggest a plan?"

"You have no idea how little it takes for someone to see you as a target," Alfred said. "We don't want your help if it leads to your harm." He glanced at Bruce. "And that means no enlisting her, either."

"I don't have to be enlisted," Samantha cried. "I _want_ to help!"

"And I'm telling you, your help is not needed!" Alfred scolded his niece.

"What exactly do you think would happen if I just—"

"Hopefully we never find out! We don't tempt fate in this house, and that means you stay hidden and stay safe. Besides, you're supposed to be keeping your head down anyway. You're sick, Samantha, sick and fragile!"

"I'm not fragile."

"Can you tell me with absolute certainty that you won't collapse and die within the next few minutes?"

Samantha's lower lip quivered. She didn't answer.

"Go to the kitchen," Alfred said. "There's dishes that need washing."

Samantha shook her head. "No. No, I won't."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I won't wash your stupid dishes," Samantha said, blinking back the rivers from her eyes. "I'm too fragile, anyway, right?"

She turned on her heel and sprinted away. Bruce frowned.

"That was a little harsh, don't you think?"

"If it makes her see sense, then not at all. I've used far harsher with you."

"Yeah, but she's not me."

Alfred turned on his master. "Are you taking her side?"

Bruce raised his hands. "Not at all. I agree, she shouldn't intentionally make herself known as an assistant to Batman."

"I think she shouldn't be his assistant at all. On which note, I'll warn you again. No enlisting her help; the more she does for you, the more she'll expect a share in the action, and the last thing we want is a massive target on her head."

"She gave us a chance at Oddjob," Bruce said, frowning. "We may need her help, Alfred."

Bruce stormed away, his shoes silent against the carpet. He vanished into the shadows, leaving Alfred alone, mouth still buzzing with a thousand unspoken words.

Bruce couldn't possibly think Samantha would be a help to Batman. In her condition, that was the last thing she would be able to do.


	9. Chapter 8: Angry Mask

**Chapter 8 - Angry Masks**

I spent the entire day in my room. My excuse was that I hadn't cleaned it since I arrived; I doubt Alfred really bought it, but he only checked in once, so I assume he understood what I was really doing, which was sulking. I am a champion sulker when I desire to be.

All I wanted to do was help. I should be allowed that much, after practically living in the Batcave for over a week. I knew the ins and outs of how the Batfamily worked; heck, I could already manage the computer. But no; Alfred wanted me far away from anything Bat-related, and why? Because he thought I was _fragile_. That word in particular hurt like a sting; it's the last word I want associated with me. So what if I've got a terminal disease? It doesn't turn me into porcelain. I can have an idea just fine without it killing me.

I got a call from Bruce around noon. He told me he had been to the police station to talk to Jim Gordon about my plan. This got me excited again; maybe the fight in the hallway hadn't been for nothing.

"What did he say?" I asked.

Bruce sighed, the sound gargling through the phone speaker. "He said it would be a great plan… if the shop owners agreed to it, not to mention about fifty business executives, manufacturers, and customers."

My face fell. "Okay, well… did you talk to them?"

"There's only so much I can do in a day. If one wealthy business person doesn't give their consent, Wayne Enterprises could face a lawsuit."

"You can handle one lawsuit, you're a billionaire!"

"Well, try twenty lawsuits."

"But-"

"I'm sorry, Sam. It's not going to work."

I blew out my breath and rubbed my eyes. "Okay, well… what about as Batman?"

"If he tried, I think there would be even worse pushback. Batman's a symbol of fear, not security."

"People respect him."

"They respect a man who wears a two-piece and knows his way around an office, like they do. It's just not going to work; we have to accept that."

"What's plan b?"

"I'll work on it."

"I can help-"

"Alfred's made himself clear on that point."

I growled into the speaker. "I'm not _fragile_. I can come up with a plan."

"Your plan was a good one, but like I said, it's time to accept that it won't work. On a different note, Alfred and I have been talking, and we think it's time we finished up our research."

I blinked. "Okay. Why the rush?"

"We just think you should spend more time up in the Manor, where you belong, instead of hooked to a monitor in a drafty cave."

"I don't mind it so much. You guys are trying to find a cure; that could take time."

"I hired you to help clean my house, not to spend every available hour—"

"Wait, wait." I frowned, my fingers tightening around the phone. "Is this because you don't want me involved with Batman?"

Bruce hesitated, which was proof enough. I didn't give him a chance to answer.

"You know what, I will stay out of your cave, and out of your business. But you let Alfred know, I'm not doing it because you asked; I'm doing it because you're both jerks."

 _Beep._

I yelled and threw the phone onto my pillows.

My plan had failed, and now Bruce didn't want me to help. Top that with a heaping helping of distrust and babying, and it was enough to put me in a bad mood for days. I was on the verge of being banished from the Batcave; what could possibly be worse?

 _Knock knock._

"Samantha, darling. I have lunch."

I squared my jaw. I wouldn't open the door, not for Alfred. If he thought he could just make everything better with a sandwich, he was wrong. I flopped face-first into my pillows and stayed silent.

He knocked again. "Samantha, I know you're in there. Don't make me open this door."

He wouldn't. He was too much of a gentleman.

"Samantha, please?"

I smooshed the pillows over my ears. I waited for several minutes, and when he didn't speak again, I dared to get up and go to the door. He was gone, but he left a tray of food. Sure enough, sandwiches. I was tempted to flip the entire tray and spill his nicely de-crusted ham-and-cheeses onto the carpet.

I didn't do it, but I could barely taste them anyway for the enormous lump in my throat.

/

By sunset, I was starting to feel lonely. Avoiding Alfred, and now Bruce, by staying in my room all day meant I didn't get _any_ social interaction. As I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling, I wondered how much motivation and energy it would take to get up and search out the boys. As far as I knew, they didn't know about the argument, and hadn't lost their good opinion of me. But it would take so much to sit up, and slide off the bed, and leave the room… couldn't they just come to me?

That was when I heard a knock – a knock on the balcony door.

I turned my head and saw Damian standing outside, his arms folded across his chest. He was wearing his Robin costume. He tapped on the doors again. "Are you going to let me in?"

I walked hesitantly to the doors and opened them. "What exactly are you doing on my balcony? And wearing that?"

Damian strode into my room. "You need my help."

"With what?"

"Your plan." Damian chucked a small, black object to me. I caught it in my hands; it felt sturdy, but soft. "You'll need this," Damian said. "I also suggest you put on something a shade darker."

I blinked at him. "Wait, wait. How do you know about…?"

Damian glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. My heart sank.

"You saw the whole thing, didn't you? The argument?"

"Through the security cameras. I thought you had a reasonably good plan. My father is a fool for denying you your potential, as is Pennyworth."

"Um… thanks. Did the others hear about it?"

"I assume they know by now."

Shoot.

Damian paused, his hand on the closet door. "I know that your plan failed, at least the way father was carrying it out. So we need to approach it differently."

He opened my closet and started pulling out the darkest items he could find. "I've calculated the timing and route of the mission, so we get everything to the docks on time; and I grabbed this." He held up a cinch-top sack big enough to be a mailbag.

Something clicked into place in my brain. "Wait, we're stealing? No, no, no, Damian, that's the worst, _worst_ plan possible!"

"Do you have a better one?"

I looked at last at the sturdy, soft thing he had thrown to me. It was a mask – one of the traditional Bat-masks the boys wore. It looked so out of place in my room. It would look even more out of place on my face.

"Stealing is against Batman's code," I ventured. "Doesn't this go against everything you stand for – you know, justice and honor and all that?"

Damian snorted. "My father does his fair share of stealing, especially from those halfwit detectives at the GCPD. He does what has to be done, and so do I."

"Yeah, but _I_ don't! I have never, ever gone against the law in my life, and if we got caught…"

"We would _not_ get caught," Damian said, sounding slightly offended. "You'd be with me."

"Okay, but… even if I did come, why would you pick me to help? I'd just slow you down."

"It's your plan. You should have the chance to execute it."

Well… that was what I wanted, wasn't it? And for the first time today, it seemed somebody actually believed in me. I slowly bent down and picked up the dark clothing Damian had pulled out of my closet. "I don't know. I'm not sure I like this plan."

"Sometimes, for the greater good, we have to do things we don't like."

We locked eyes and stood in silence for the longest time, my brain rushing from scenario to scenario. I could get caught by the police, or worse, by Batman. What would Alfred think then? What would Bruce think? They might kick me out.

But if I didn't get caught… this could be my chance, both to help Bruce, and to prove to him and Alfred that I wasn't fragile. Damian was used to this kind of work; if I followed him, maybe, just maybe, we could pull it off.

"If we do this," I said, "you have to promise me we won't get caught."

"You have my word," Damian said.

That would have to do. I nodded.

"Let's do it."

Damian pulled a black hoodie out of the closet and tossed it to me. "We'll arrive at our first location at twilight – late enough for the stores to be closed and early enough that my father won't have started patrolling yet. It will only take a moment to disarm security and collect our charges; then we do the same with each of the jewelry stores and take the final load to the docks. We'll be finished before my father has his cowl on. The sun is still about five minutes from setting. Get dressed; I'll wait outside."

Damian walked back out onto the balcony, leaving me in peace to change. I dressed in black jeans and the hoodie, with a pair of soft leather boots and some black gloves Damian found. Then I went to put on the mask. But as my hand reached for it, I hesitated.

"Do I have to wear this?"

"Yes," Damian called from the balcony. "Keeping your identity safe is mandatory. Put it on, and let's go."

I took a deep breath and placed the mask over my eyes. To my surprise, it fit perfectly, as if it were made for me. I had always wondered how it stayed in place; I would have to wonder on, because what was stopping this thing from falling right off was way beyond me. It didn't feel like adhesive, and it didn't have any kind of strap. It was like putting on another layer of skin.

I took a moment to glance in the bathroom mirror. The dark caverns of the mask cast deep shadows over my eyes, so the brown looked more like black. My cheekbones looked sharper, and my brows were hidden behind a permanent scowl. I looked angry and fierce.

"This is so strange."

"Are you ready?"

I shook myself. "Yes."

I walked out to the beginnings of a sunset, a mask on my face and a plan in my head. I felt so… different. I wasn't myself anymore. I could do anything, and no one would know it was me. I didn't have to be sick or scared. I understood at last why Batman didn't need superpowers: the mask was a superpower all on its own.

Samantha was a thing of the past. What I was now, I didn't know; but I liked it.

"Lead the way, Robin."

/

Robin had to carry me as he swung from the rooftops. I had imagined swinging around Gotham would be a little more… well, romantic. This was just awkward, and Damian didn't mind complaining about my lack of ability. But no matter how uncomfortable it was to cling to a thirteen-year-old's bony shoulders for dear life, taking that first dive off the top of a building and feeling the tug of the line as we arced toward the sky was still exhilarating. And once I'd gotten a little more used to the sudden plunge, I started to enjoy the sting of the wind that whipped my hair around my face, the feeling of slicing through the air feet first.

We arrived at our destination right on schedule. It was the first time I had been in Gotham City since I got to Wayne Manor, and it felt like a completely different place. The setting sun threw long, deep shadows over the city, broken only by bright, glinting glares off high windows. The heart of the city had already begun to beat faster, people turning on lights and turning up late evening music, as we snuck out of an alleyway and up to the door of our first stop.

Robin picked the lock, slipped through the door, and disabled security in a matter of seconds. As he let me in, I whispered, "I have to learn how to do all this stuff for myself."

"I'd be willing to teach you. Of course, my father and Alfred have both banned me from doing exactly that, so it would have to be a secret."

"Fine by me. What now?"

"The cabinets can be opened now. Since we have to be quick, I'll do all the lockpicking. You can carry the bag."

I frowned as he tossed me a burlap sack. "That's why you brought me. I'm the pack horse."

"Sidekick, if that would make you feel better."

I let the matter go. Damian was just that kind of kid you didn't argue with unless you wanted to carry the same conversation for hours. I held open the bag as Robin carefully collected the pins and dumped them in.

"Just before we finish this," I said, "are you absolutely, one-hundred percent certain this is the right thing to do?"

"I'm certain. If you need reassurance, as soon as the trap is sprung, and we have Oddjob, we'll give everything back. In that sense, we're not even stealing; we're borrowing."

"What if Oddjob gets past us? What of he manages to get this stuff even with us guarding it?"

"He won't. Now be silent and hold the bag."

"Yes, sir."

We finished in silence, then slipped back outside, reactivated security, and locked the door. This same process took us through the remaining five stores in a matter of minutes, thanks to Robin's ability to hook-and-line through the city at lightning speed, even with me on his back. He really is an amazing kid. Scary, but amazing.

We arrived at the docks at around nine o'clock at night, when the sun had fully set. We dropped down between a couple of crates to wait for our prey.

"Do you think he'll show up?" I asked, shifting the heavy sack off my shoulder. "Would he even know we brought these here?"

"Your plan," Robin said, peering around the corner of the crate. "You tell me."

I thought. "If he's capable of telling which stores have these specific items in stock, he must have some way of doing that… which means he can probably tell that we've removed all of them. He would probably also be aware of the shipment coming in, since it's carrying what he's looking for. And if he can put two and two together, he'll be able to figure out where we've taken it."

"Elementary logic."

"Only," I continued, frowning, "if he knows we moved them, he would know this is a trap."

"He's a thrill criminal; he steals to show off. If he underestimates me, like most criminals do, he'll assume tonight will be an easy win and walk right in."

"Still," I said, holding out the sack full of charms. "You should find a good hiding place for this. We don't want him to get his hands on it."

Damian ignored me. "We'll wait here until the ship docks; I'll keep a lookout for Oddjob. We see him, we catch him, we bring him in; you get to brag in front of my father and Alfred, and nobody worries about you being part of the team ever again."

"And then of course you'll put in that you actually did all the work…"

" _Tt._ No, I won't. This is your mission."

I glanced at him. "You're not getting anything out of this? If it doesn't benefit you, why did you come?"

"Because nobody else was going to help you." He was quiet for a moment. "And… I suppose I can relate to you on a certain level. I wasn't always very welcome on the team. I understand the need to prove yourself." Robin cleared his throat. "Plus, once this is over, maybe Pennyworth will be able to get his head on straight again. He's been an absolute wreck since you came."

"Hey, be nice; he's my uncle." I glanced up at the sliver of sky overhead. "Are you sure we can convince him that this was a good idea?"

"You could convince him of anything. You are a girl, after all, and everybody likes girls who have pleasing features and a fair disposition."

"It won't be fair much longer if you keep-"

"Hush. I can hear someone coming."

We sank down against the side of the crate. "Do you think Oddjob found us already?" I whispered.

"Not likely. No one can track me."

"Then who's…"

"FREEZE."

I jumped out of my skin at the loud blast from the megaphone. In an instant, either side of the alley between the crates was closed off by a police car, with lights flashing and sirens wailing.

"Follow me," Damian hissed in my ear.

"What?" I looked around. "Where…?"

He was gone. Where did he even…? My heart sank. He'd left me alone with a bag full of stolen goods, and there were cop cars and policemen blocking every exit.

Great. I always wanted to get arrested.

A man stepped out of one of the cars and started walking toward me. "Hands where I can see 'em!" he yelled, aiming a gun at my head.

My heart was racing, and my head was churning so fast that I only got two reasonable thoughts out of it. _I am in so much trouble; I can't let this be traced back to the others._ I ripped off the mask and stuffed it up my shirt, where hopefully they wouldn't find it before I could move it to a more secure location. As soon as I did, I felt vulnerable and scared. I couldn't hide anymore; whatever happened next would be my fault and mine alone.

The man walking toward me lowered his gun. "Great. Another kid. I'm guessing you're not trying to pay school bills."

Shoot. I knew him. The red hair, the mustache, the glasses, the trench coat - all the easily recognizable signs.

Commissioner Jim Gordon - a.k.a. no way Barbara doesn't hear about this.

Jim Gordon pointed to the sack with his gun. "What's in the bag?"

"Here," I said, tossing it to him. "Take them. I was going to give them back anyway; my partner was trying to set a trap for someone, but he promised he was going to return everything afterward. That is, before he ditched me."

Jim eyed me suspiciously. "You seem oddly calm for someone caught stealing from a high-end jewelry store."

"Caught?" I cried. "Are you serious? I thought we turned off all the cameras!"

"You can't turn off human eyes." Jim said, opening the sack. "Huh. Batman pins. You know, it's funny - _Bruce Wayne_ was in my office just this morning asking for an escort to move these exact pins to a secure location."

My mind was stuck on "caught." Damian had promised. He had given his word that we wouldn't get caught. And then we did get caught. And he bailed.

Jim got me on the ground and cuffed my hands. He gave me my rights and shoved me into a police car. I didn't hear any of it. Damian had abandoned me; all I could hear was the garbled rush of thoughts through my mind.

Surely, he had a good reason to leave me. He wouldn't let me get caught on purpose; he wouldn't do that to me. There had to be a reason.

We drove to the police station, where I was quizzed on what my name was and where I lived. I played dumb - told them I was called Sam, that I didn't know my address. Jim didn't seem to buy it, but for some reason, he left me alone. Then he led me down a long hallway of jail cells to the very last one, furthest from all the nuts in temporary housing.

"You might be here a while, Sam," Jim said. "Just don't do anything stupid, and you'll be fine. Get some sleep. I'll come see you in the morning."

I just nodded and curled up on the cot. I wanted to sleep. Maybe then, my brain and all its stupid doubts would shut up.

/

I did manage to get some sleep, though it was disturbed by dreams and the late-night activity of the precinct. I was relieved to wake up and see sunlight streaming through the barred windows. I was even happier when Jim Gordon showed up outside my cell, just like he said he would. At least someone could keep a promise.

"So, kid. Do you want to tell me anything?"

I sat on the cot and played with the fringed edges of my blanket. I had to fight the temptation to pull out the mask again and shove it on. Something about that anonymity felt so enticing. But it wouldn't do anything for me now.

I folded my hands in my lap and met Jim's eyes.

"I'm sorry I did it. It was foolish. I listened to my friend - my stupid, lying friend - when I knew in my gut I shouldn't. And if I've ever promised anything before, it's nothing compared to the promise I'm making now to never, _ever_ listen to him again."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit of a hasty promise. Sure you can keep it?"

I bit my lip. Could I keep it? Damian had failed, and the space of speculation had helped me see why. You can't promise the future; you don't know what's in it.

"You're right," I sighed and hugged my knees to my chest. "Can I stay here? I can't do anything stupid in here."

"Unfortunately, that's not guaranteed, either."

We were silent for a while. Jim stayed where he was, arms across his chest, as if waiting for something from me. I finally got tired of the silence.

"You work with Batman?"

Jim's moustache twitched. "Unofficially."

"What is he like, when he's out here? Out on the streets, working a case. What's he like when he talks to you?"

Jim chuckled. "Uh, a pain. He asks complicated questions and only sticks around for half the answer. And never tells me what he's doing."

"But he trusts you. Right?"

"I don't know. I sure haven't trusted him all the time. I don't know what he thinks about me. Probably thinks I'm old. Foolish. Slow."

"That's not true." I looked up. "He should trust you. You've done more for this city than the mayor. You're like a plainclothes Batman yourself."

The glare on Jim's glasses hid his eyes. "You seem to know a lot about me."

I looked at my hands. "Just the usual lore."

Jim bowed his head. "Well… thanks. Not many people in Gotham would agree with you. Most of 'em think I'm not needed now that we've got a masked vigilante keeping us safe."

"We need cops, too. I mean, Batman didn't catch me, did he? You did."

"Yeah, I did. Speaking of which, I'd like to clear you out nice and quick, so I need some info."

"Yeah, anything."

"You have folks I could call?"

I heaved a sigh. "No."

Jim shook his head. "Too many orphans in this city."

"Tell me about it."

Jim smiled at me. "I like you, kid; you're something else." His eyes crinkled like Alfred's. "I bet I could work something out, once you're released. Maybe I can set you up with a family. A good family, away from Gotham."

"Thanks, but I don't want new parents. My old ones were just fine."

I fingered my locket. I had forgotten to take it off last night, and frankly, I hadn't noticed it. But now, I couldn't leave it alone. It was both a comfort and a torture. My parents would have been so mad at me.

"I get it," Jim said. "Who are you staying with, then?"

"Excuse me."

My head whipped around to see none other than Bruce Wayne walking toward my cell. His face was all sunshine and business as he held out his hand toward Jim and shook.

"Mr. Wayne," Jim said. "What brings you to the station?"

"Charity," Bruce said. "I'd like to sponsor a rehabilitation case. Give someone a second chance. You understand."

Jim looked at me, a twinkle in his eye. "I think I may have just the kid."

I met Bruce's eyes. I couldn't read them at all. Was he mad? Disappointed?

"Sam, I'd like you to meet Mr. Bruce Wayne," Jim said. "He's a good friend of mine. I think he can give you what you need."

Yeah, a good spanking.

/

Bruce paid the bail money and got me released. He stayed pleasant the whole time, shook hands with everyone, and exchanged small talk with Jim. I just stayed silent and kept my head down. Sooner or later, the dam would break, and I'd get the talking to of a lifetime.

Twenty minutes later, Bruce and I climbed into one of his fancy sports cars and drove away from the police station. His face changed as soon as the tinted windows hid him from sight. The sunny smile vanished, to be replaced with a terrifyingly blank mask. I gulped and fixed my eyes on the floor.

"Bruce, I'm going to come right out and say that I'm sorry. That was probably about the dumbest thing I've ever done."

"Yes, it was."

I blushed and sank deeper into my seat. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to help, and Damian said it was the only way."

"So it's Damian's fault?"

"No, no! My fault, all my fault. I was the one who thought up the plan to move the jewels to the docks, and I was the one who agreed to do it the wrong way. I let Damian take me with, I let myself be arrested. It was stupid, and I'll never do it again, I promise. And if you want me to leave, I will. I'll get a job somewhere else, and you never have to see me again-"

"Sam."

I snapped my mouth shut.

Bruce glanced over from the driver's seat and sighed. "I'm disappointed in you. I'm disappointed that you would agree to follow a half-formed plan, especially one that involved breaking the law."

"I'm really sorry," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut against a wave of tears.

"I'm disappointed. But I'm not kicking you out."

My eyes fluttered open. "What?"

"I probably couldn't kick you out if I tried. Alfred would quit. But more than that, after hearing Damian's side of the story, I think he's the real culprit here."

"Really?"

Bruce nodded. "My son… doesn't trust new people easily. And last night—I have from his own mouth—he was testing you."

I blinked at the road. "He was what?"

"He tested you. He… does that. You have to understand, this boy almost killed Tim the first time he met him, because he thought he had to establish dominance. On a different occasion, he fought both Jason and Tim to see if they were worthy of working alongside him. I'm at the point where I don't even know if he's still testing me."

"He got me arrested to see if I was _worthy_."

"Yes. So you can see why I put a lot of this on Damian. However, Damian aside, I do wish you had had a little more common sense."

"I know, and I swear, it's never going to happen again."

"I respect that. But can you tell me why it happened this time? Why you did it?"

I leaned my arm against the window and rested my head on my hand. "I wanted to help. But Alfred basically told me he thought I wasn't strong enough to do anything, and after you called, I thought _you_ might think that I was… incapable. I wanted to prove that I could really do something. I wanted to prove that I'm not fragile."

"You're not fragile, Sam," Bruce said gently. "Alfred's just afraid of breaking you, which makes him see you as something to be handled with care—something to be protected. But you're not fragile. You're not very wise sometimes, but you're not fragile."

"Am I stupid? Was my plan bad?"

"No; it was a good plan. It was just poorly executed. And if I could have found a way to make it work, I would have."

I bowed my head. "So I'm not a bad helper?"

Bruce glanced my way. "Not a bad helper, no."

"Can I keep trying to help?"

"Do you understand how foolish you were?"

I stared out the window, my face burning. "Yes."

"And you understand that Damian's behavior isn't an excuse for your own?"

My throat felt tight as I tried to keep back tears. "Yes."

"Then I'll give you grace. I'll let you help, the right way."

"Thank you," I sighed. "I promise to do it right next time."

"I know you will."

We pulled into the garage and stopped the car. I quickly wiped the tears from my face. I didn't want to look like I was crying in front of the boys. I still couldn't believe I had cried in front of my _boss_.

Bruce paused, his door halfway open. "Sam."

"Hm?"

He hesitated. Then, without warning, he leaned across the seats and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I froze stiff.

Bruce Wayne was… _hugging_ me.

After a moment, I relaxed. He didn't move. I waited another minute, then let myself reach up and return the hug. He stayed still.

"You're welcome here, Sam," Bruce said softly. "Don't be afraid of us."

We got out of the car and walked into the house. Alfred was waiting for us. He glanced at Bruce, as if for a signal. Bruce gave him a nod.

Alfred didn't smile. He didn't frown, either. He held out his arms, let me run to him, and held me close.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice muffled in Alfred's shirt.

Alfred's voice hummed in his chest.

"My dear Samantha. You are always forgiven."


	10. Chapter 9: Making Amends

**Chapter 9 - Making Amends**

Breakfast was more tense than usual. I kept my head down; my fork moved more rapidly than usual between my plate and my mouth. Bruce was carrying a quiet conversation with Alfred about something at Wayne Enterprises, something meaningless. I knew, I just knew, that it was staged to keep the others from asking about my arrest.

Then, just before the lump in my throat turned into real tears, Damian cleared his throat.

"Father… shouldn't we discuss last night's developments? For Miss Meyers' sake?"

Bruce shot him a dark look, and the boy instantly ducked his head. But Damian wasn't finished.

"I mean we should fill her in on how her plan went."

My ears perked up. My plan had failed… hadn't it?

Bruce slowly, deliberately set aside his fork and steepled his fingers. "Damian is right. She ought to know."

I finally lifted my head. My eyes met Dick's; he was smiling at me from across the table.

"Believe it or not," Dick said, "your plan actually worked, to a degree."

"What?"

"It's true," Tim said, grinning. "The short of it is—"

"Okay, hold up," Jason said, swallowing his food. "You can't tell it like that. It's got to have style."

"Like you'd know anything about style," Damian muttered.

Jason ignored him and launched into a grand tale of how the Batfam _almost_ caught Oddjob. The thief had appeared at the docks exactly as I had expected, and the whole team had been waiting for him. They sprang on him, fought him, and even managed to pin him down for a glorious twenty seconds. He was wearing a full-face mask, which Tim described as resembling a Chinese Peking opera mask, carefully designed and colored to mimic the guise given to the opera's hero. When they went to remove it, Oddjob executed one of the fastest, most complex maneuvers the team had ever seen, tripping Jason and Tim over each other and loosening Bruce's grip. Before he could be secured again, Oddjob fled behind a shipment crate. When pursued, he was found to have vanished.

"He's obviously being sponsored by someone rich and powerful," Bruce said. "The kind of things he has access to – the clue items, plus whatever teleportation device he's using - they're all expensive commodities, and he doesn't seem like the type to have a lot of money. He has friends in high places."

"Thankfully for us," Tim said, "friends in high places are also friends in obvious places. We can start investigating recent purchases made by various corporations; surely, we can find his mystery sponsor before he shows up again. If we can cut off the funds, we can shut down his whole operation."

"Did you happen to get a clip of his voice?" I asked. "We could check for a voice match. Try to identify him."

"Nice idea," Bruce said. "But no. He never said a word."

"No cameras? Footage? I thought Babs set up extra security."

"She did. He fried it."

"Which means we can add EMP emitter to the list of assets," Dick sighed. "At least it gives us something more specific to look for."

"Speaking of specific," Alfred said, "did he have a mystery item on him?"

"Negative," Bruce sighed. "He appeared to be empty handed."

"Did you get any other stats?" I asked. "What about height, weight, maybe age…?"

"Well, judging by his punch, he's a big guy," Jason said, rubbing his cheek. "Fella gave me a wicked hook."

"Thanks, Jason, real specific."

Jason shot me a strange look, and I realized that was the first thing I had ever said directly to him, not as John, but as Jason. It was a weird moment; and once again, I was saved by Damian.

"He was about five feet, eleven inches," Damian recited, his face still glued to the edge of the table. "His weight, judging by height and build, was approximately 170 pounds. I would guess his age is somewhere between sixteen and twenty."

I stared at him. "You… went out last night? With the rest of them?"

"No," Bruce said, glancing sidelong at his son. "He didn't. How did you see him?"

"When we were hiding behind those crates," Damian said, mostly to me, "I saw someone fleeing over the arm of a crane. I pursued. That's all."

I blinked. It wasn't just a statement of how he had seen Oddjob. It was an explanation for why he abandoned me to the police. He was giving me that reason I had spent so long hoping for. Well, it wasn't the best, but it wasn't terrible. He was trying.

"Well," Bruce said evenly. "At least something came of your little escapade last night. Dick, Jason, Tim, you three head down to the cave. Input everything we know about Oddjob and start a file on him and his mystery sponsor. Samantha, you may help Alfred clean up, and then you may meet me in the Batcave. And Damian…"

Damian kept his head down, scowling. But this time, I could see, there in his eyes, what I hadn't been able to see before: just the tiniest hint of fear.

"You will come with me," Bruce finished.

I got up and started clearing plates as the other boys stood and talked loudly to dissipate the tension. I made my way around the table to Damian's spot, and, in the hubbub, bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Don't be afraid of him," I whispered, taking his plate. "He just wants you to be honest."

Damian blinked rapidly, trying to keep his scowl from slipping. I gave him a small smile and hurried after my uncle.

/

Bruce was true to his word; the next week—a week exactly, meaning seven days—was devoted entirely to finishing my primary tests and getting all my info into a file. After that, Bruce claimed, they would have enough research to conduct further tests through computer programs. I didn't believe a computer could help me to the extent he promised, but I didn't want to keep doing these tests any more than he did.

There were no attacks, thank goodness, but that also meant we didn't have much to look at beyond the normal me. They took plenty of blood and skin samples; I had Band-Aids on all my fingers by Thursday. They tracked my sleep patterns, had me eat a specific diet, even put me through some physical exercises to see if they could set something off. But nothing looked out of place. Nothing was off.

Through it all, I kept telling myself, "We just haven't tried the right test. We've just missed something, something small, easy to miss. We'll figure it out."

It was getting harder to believe.

By Friday, the research was finished, and everyone was fed up and tired, so we spent the weekend being lazy and trying to have fun. Alfred drove me into town, and we went on my first Wayne-budget shopping spree. I came home with some very posh outfits and a stomach full of coffee and ice cream. My uncle sure knew how to treat a girl.

It was so nice and fun and relaxing, I deeply regretted Monday's arrival – at least, until I remembered that I didn't have to go down to the cave and lie strung up on a cot. I could finally return to my real job, and with Alfred's consent I decided to spend the day working in the garden.

As soon as I stepped out of the house, a wild grin spread across my face. The sun was shining, and there was a fine breeze rustling the bushes and flower beds that lined the paths. I let myself wander for a moment, my shoes crackling against the gravel as I took in the colors and smells of the great outdoors after so long confined to a dank, dark cave.

"Perfect," I sighed to myself.

The morning passed spectacularly. The garden was looking wonderful by the time I finished with it, everything trimmed, watered, and glowing with life. I sat on a bench in the middle of it all, next to a fountain, and watched the rainbows dance through the droplets and the sunlight dance through the trees. Then Alfred brought me lunch, and we ate it together outside. It was so good to be alone with him, just the two of us having a picnic. It was like normalcy.

The work wasn't done, so I stayed outside into the afternoon. Once Alfred went back inside, I started watering the flower beds. I moved down the walkways, passing under the spotted shade of the apple trees. It was so peaceful out here; I relaxed, mesmerized by the sparkling droplets as they sprayed over the flowers, brushing against the leaves.

"Meyers."

I jumped so hard, my hand lost the hose and water sprayed everywhere in a rushing torrent. I scrambled to grab it and turn it off, soaking myself in the process.

"Damian Wayne, don't do that!" I whirled on him, water dripping from my shirt. "Now I'm going to have to go change."

Damian stood a few feet away with his dog, Titus. He looked more stiff than I had ever seen him. His whole demeanor was odd, almost awkward, as if he were nervous.

"I can leave, if you'd like…"

My face softened. He _was_ nervous about something. "No, it's fine. I'm sorry. You just startled me, that's all."

"I have that effect on people."

I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to laugh. Instead, I asked, "Did you want to say something? Does Alfred need me?"

"No." Damian took a deep breath, staring into the depths of the garden. "I came out here in order to… tell you something. Something which Father has been pressing me to tell you. Since… I took you out and got you arrested."

So he hadn't just stumbled across me while walking Titus. He was actually trying to apologize. No wonder he looked so tense. I motioned to a nearby bench. "Would you like to sit down?"

Without a word, Damian walked to the bench and sat down, letting out a pent-up breath. I followed and seated myself next to him. Titus sniffed around the flower beds, but stayed close, as if keeping tabs on his owner.

"Alright, so what did you want to tell me?"

Damian stared at the cobblestone path, his hands tapping the seat of the bench. "I wanted to tell you that what I did was not right. I should not have taken you out against my father's wishes, and against Alfred's. Even though your plan was a good one, and there really wasn't a better solution. In fact, if we hadn't gone out and done what we did, we would never have…"

"Damian."

Damian scowled. "Right. Anyway. My purpose in taking you out, it was to test you. I wanted to see what you're made of. I prefer to see for myself if members of Batman's troupe are trustworthy and capable. And with you in the Batcave so often, and helping with this current mission, I thought it would be worth seeing if you could handle the rougher side of things as well. Which was a mistake, obviously, considering you aren't at that stage yet. You don't have any of the skills you'd need to go out with the rest of us yet…"

"Damian."

"Not to be offensive, of course. I'm sure you understand. Anyhow, thank you for your time. I'll let you get back to work now."

I sighed. "Damian."

He paused, halfway to his feet. "What?"

I smiled and hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. He shook me off and stood.

"Damian," I said, "have you ever apologized out loud before?"

Damian turned red. "I… have. I must have. It's not that hard. I should go…"

I raised my eyebrows. "Nuh-uh. This is a skill everyone should learn. If you know how to swing from rooftops and stop bad guys, you can learn to say 'I'm sorry.'"

Damian growled. "I can."

I cocked my head. "Would it make it easier if I told you that I forgave you, like, a week ago? There's nothing resting on it. I just want you to be able to say it. Go on; I believe in you."

Damian stared at me. He bit his lip, moved his mouth, took a breath. He set his stance and nodded firmly.

"I… am… I apologize. I'm sorry for what I did."

I smiled. "Well done, Master Damian."

His face changed. His tension vanished, and in its place came a mix of relief and pain. He slowly sat down again, and I waited patiently until he had regained his composure.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Yes, it was."

I laughed. "You know, you're really not as tough as…"

Damian gave me a withering look. I swallowed my comment.

"The point is, I'm glad you said it. Now I think we can move on."

Damian nodded. "My thoughts exactly." He turned to me, all traces of emotion well hidden. "How are you doing, after a week of tests?"

I shrugged. "Well enough. I'm… a little worried it won't be enough. We didn't get any results mid-attack. It's been a week since I had one. I can feel another winding up." I shuddered. "It's like living under a cloud."

"Like the mule from _Winnie the Pooh._ "

I stared at him. "Uh… yeah. How… I didn't think…"

"My father made me listen to him read them when I was ten. He thought it would be a good bonding exercise. I hated them. The real world isn't nearly that childish."

"Aw. I liked those books. My mom read them to me when I was little."

Damian was silent. I glanced at him, curious.

"What was your mom like?"

"We don't talk about her," Damian said, standing. "Thank you for… I'll leave you now."

"Yeah, I should get back to work," I said, shaking myself. "My foot's fallen asleep."

I stamped my foot on the ground, trying to wake it up. But the pins and needles feeling wouldn't go away. Then I realized that both my feet were tingling. I frowned and tried to stand.

Next thing I knew, I was on the ground.

Titus barked once, loud. I looked up to see the great dane bound toward me, Damian on his heels.

"Samantha? Are you alright?"

I tried to push myself up, but now my arms were tingling. And I couldn't feel my feet. Actually, I couldn't feel my legs at all. They were completely numb.

"Damian," I said, my voice shaking. "I think… it's an attack."

Damian crouched next to me. "What is it?"

My arms gave out. I couldn't feel my fingers. I couldn't feel my arms. I couldn't feel any of my limbs, and my back wasn't working, either. I was…

"Paralyzed," I gasped. "I'm going paralyzed."

"I'll get Alfred," Damian said. "Titus! Come!"

He disappeared from my sight. I felt panic bubbling in my chest.

"No, wait, Damian…"

"I'll be right back," he said, his voice getting farther and farther away. I pushed my consciousness to the edges of my body, begging it to get up, but I was trapped, pressed to the ground by my own weight. I felt a scream build up in my throat.

"Damian!" I dragged in breath after breath, trying to fight off claustrophobia. "Damian, come back! Damian!"

His footfalls quieted and vanished, and I was alone. Suddenly, I couldn't control my breathing. I couldn't control any part of my body. I started to cry loud, ragged sobs, silently begging the rest of me to work again. Nothing happened; nothing changed, and I couldn't move. I couldn't move…

"I'm back!" Damian knelt in front of me. "I'm here."

"Damian, I can't move, I-I can't move…"

"I sent Titus; he's trained for this. Someone should be out soon—"

"Stay here, please, Damian! Please, I can't…"

"Calm down."

"I can't… can't, I can't…"

Damian reached out and put his hand at the base of my neck. Then he slid his fingers along my shoulder and pressed gently against the soft spot behind my collar bone. Instantly, my breathing calmed. My heart stopped pounding.

As Damian sat back, I relaxed. "How'd… how did you do that?"

"Tt. I know more than how to fight."

"Bruce taught you that?"

"No."

"Then who…?"

"No one."

I could see his face. I knew he was hiding secrets behind a well-constructed mask, secrets darker than any I had heard so far. But a mask is meant to be seen—as is the fact that there is something else beneath it.

"Who?"

"Do you want me to place you in a more comfortable position?"

"I'm alright. Damian, can't you please tell me? Just to pass the time."

Damian didn't speak for a long time. I was convinced he wasn't going to give me an explanation. But then he sighed.

"My mother taught it to me."

"Your mother?"

I still knew nothing about her, the secret woman. Alfred hadn't gotten around to that part of the story, and I got the distinct feeling that he had avoided the topic on purpose. Maybe he was waiting until Damian himself was ready to tell me. Well, he seemed ready now. I had so many questions… where to start?

"Who was she?"

"Her name is Talia."

"Is? I thought… is she still alive?"

"Yes."

"Then where…"

"Even I don't know where she is now. She raised me from an infant until I was ten, the way my grandfather told her to - the way that would prepare me to be the strongest soldier in his war."

"Why… who's your grandfather."

"I don't suppose you would know him. His name is Ra's al Ghul. A warrior, a self-proclaimed visionary; he believes he alone can bring about the kind of balance the world needs. He is… an enemy of my father's. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps; I'm sure he hoped I would also follow in his opposition of Batman. But…"

"It's hard to oppose your own dad."

"Not always," Damian scoffed. "But I'd rather oppose him for my own reasons than for someone else's; and our moments of disagreement are few and far between. Anyway, Mother… wasn't good for me, and Father and I have agreed not to speak of her."

"She did teach you some useful things, though."

"That technique is meant to be used in situations requiring stealth and swift incapacitation of hostiles. If you apply enough force, the receiver will be knocked unconscious for about twenty minutes."

"Oh." I blinked. "Well… I assume she also taught you how _not_ to do that, so, that's good."

"She taught me everything," Damian said, his voice strangely wistful. "How to fight, how to think; she taught me how to survive." He looked at me with fiery eyes. "It was Father who taught me how to _live_. That's what matters."

"It sounds like you still care about her, though."

Damian jerked back as if my words had shocked him. But after a moment, the defiance slid from his face, and his gaze went somewhere far away. "I… have wondered—just a few times—if she had been on the right side of things… if we could have been a real… a proper family…"

He fell silent, scowling. If I could have moved, I would have put a hand on his arm. But I couldn't move, and he probably wouldn't have appreciated it, anyway.

"I know you can't have a full family, Damian—a family with a mother. But we're here; we're a real family. A proper one. Don't think for a second that you're less loved."

Damian stared at his hands. "I thought you'd say something like that."

"We're not all as uptight as Batman. I'm willing to say I love people."

Damian glanced at me. Then we both heard a loud bark from the direction of the house. He looked back over his shoulder and his face changed, the brief moment of vulnerability vanishing. "Father."

I strained my eyes, trying to see further up the path. Titus trotted into view, leaning over me and licking my face. I smiled.

"Good dog."

"Sorry for the delay." Bruce knelt in front of me. "What is it this time?"

"Paralysis," Damian said. "Everything but the head, I think."

"I'm so sorry, Sam. Let's get you inside. Damian, hold her head for me."

Damian lifted my head as Bruce picked me up and carried me like a baby. I would have been embarrassed, but Damian's story kept me distracted. They walked me inside, where Alfred reacted just like a doctor - with focus and reason. They got me to a couch, then Bruce gathered up the boys and rushed down to the Batcave, where they were going to set up a space for me to stay permanently. Hopefully not _actually_ permanently. This would be gone by tomorrow. Right?

/

In minutes, I was situated cozily in my own little Bat-bedroom in a less drafty part of the cave. There was a nice soft bed – going off what others told me; I wouldn't have been able to tell if it was made of nails. I couldn't feel anything in my arms or from the waist down. They had also brought down an entire dining area, complete with candles, so there was no lack of space for people keeping me company. The boys sat around me while Alfred and Bruce set up the medical side of my private wing.

"I suppose it's scenic enough," I said, trying to make conversation. "I get the Batmobile, the giant penny, and a T-rex to keep me company."

"And a squadron of enthusiastic helpers," Dick said. "Willing to go on midnight milkshake runs and morning muffin expeditions – for no personal reasons, of course."

"So long as Gotham isn't falling to shambles," Jason added.

"Uh, yeah, please don't let the crime rate go up because you're babysitting me."

"Please," Damian tutted. "We can multitask, Samantha."

Tim stared at him. "You just called her Samantha."

"You never call us by our first names," Dick said.

"It's different with females, Grayson."

Dick grinned. "Uh huh."

"Alfred's going to be busy taking care of Sam," Bruce said, coming up behind Dick's chair. "I think we should take over with dinner. Damian – you're cooking."

"Damian?" I glanced at him. "You can cook?"

Damian grinned. "I learned that one from Pennyworth."

"We can eat down here," Bruce continued. "Tim, set the table. Dick and Jason will do the dishes afterward."

"And you'll stay with me?"

"I'll stay."

The boys trotted off, leaving me and Bruce alone. He gave me a sad smile.

"I guess we can get some mid-attack results now. I just wish you didn't have to go through this."

"It's alright," I said. "I'm getting used to it."

Bruce winced. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"For what?" I smiled. "It's me versus myself. You have nothing to apologize for."

"I want to see you get better, not worse," Bruce said, taking my hand. How odd – I didn't feel a thing. "For now, you get some rest. I promise to stay right here."

"Thank you."

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the terrifying sensation of having zero control over my body. I couldn't feel the bed, the blankets – not even the various tubes and wires already connected to my arms and legs. If this was permanent, I hated it. I'd give anything for my body back.

For now, though, sleep sounded like the closest thing to relief. I quieted my mind and let myself relax, until reality gave way to dreams.

/

I woke with a start. Bruce was shaking my shoulder, gently telling me to wake up, dinner was ready. I rubbed my eyes…

 _I rubbed my eyes!_

I stared at my hand. Then I lifted the other one and stared at it for a while. I shared a surprised look with Bruce.

"My arms are working."

"Yes, they are. Are your legs working?"

I kept my hands up; no way I was letting them out of my sight. I tried to move my legs, but it didn't work. I couldn't even wiggle my toes.

"No. Just the arms. That's a lot better than nothing, though." I stretched them, flexed my fingers, waved my hands. "So much better. I felt like a jellyfish."

"At least I don't have to spoon feed you," Bruce said, smiling. "Here. Dinner in bed."

"Are the others eating with us?"

"They already ate. You were so fast asleep, we decided not to disturb you."

He set a tray on the bedside table. Then he held out his arms to help me sit up. I pushed him off.

"I can handle it."

I started by moving other parts of my body—neck, head, back—just to see what parts of me I could use. Then I slowly pushed the top half of myself upright. It was like doing a reverse push-up, without using my legs at all. The second part was trickier: pulling myself up the bed so I was leaning against the pillows. I grabbed the back of the mattress and pulled with all my might, until bit by bit, I slid up to the pillows.

As soon as I released the mattress, my arms cried out in relief. I realized for the first time how much I used my legs, even just to move the rest of my body. Before panic could break through the wall of calm I had managed to set up, I patted my lap and smiled.

"All set."

Bruce handed me the tray. "You have good upper body strength."

"Yeah. That would be thanks to the gym my dad worked at. I got in for free every week."

"I'm surprised you'd want to do that much work. I pegged you as more of a bookish sort."

"I was… once."

I took the lid off my food and instantly died a thousand happy deaths. It looked like some kind of curry; I could smell the spicy sweetness of the sauce. My mouth watered.

"Wow. I didn't realize Damian could cook this well."

Bruce smiled. "Alfred doesn't let him into the kitchen often. He went all out for tonight's meal. Go ahead and eat."

I obediently devoured my dinner like a dog, barely pausing for a moment to swallow. It was amazing. Hopefully, Alfred would never find out I liked Damian's cooking so much. Bruce worked at the computer and waited patiently for me to finish.

Finally, I set the lid back over the empty dishes. "Give my compliments to the chef."

Bruce returned to my side. "You can do that when he comes down for patrol. In the meantime, I was wondering... would you mind telling me more about yourself?"

I hesitated. "What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you're willing to tell me. I just want to get to know you better."

Whatever I was willing to tell. How much did he want? Maybe I should tell him everything, just in case. I thought back, far back. And of course, what I found were my parents.

/

When I was little, we lived miles from the city, in a little town called Bloomfield.

I was seven years old, still young enough to get tucked in, but old enough to know Mommy and Daddy stayed up after I went to bed. That night, I had decided to find out what they did while I was asleep. I ended up sitting next to the dining room door and listening to a conversation I definitely wasn't supposed to hear.

"Right under my nose," my dad was saying. "I should've suspected something. All of them were on it at some point; I saw that. But I should've connected the dots; I should've known they were selling it, too."

Mom sighed. "People make stupid choices sometimes."

A beat of silence.

"What are you going to do?"

"Leave the band," Dad said. "I can't support what they're doing, and I definitely can't get involved, for your sake and Samantha's."

"While I applaud the sentiment, Charles, I can't support our family on weekly gigs and high school choral accompaniment. You'll have to find a new job."

"I know."

"And…?"

Dad made that frustrated noise, and I heard the creak of the table that meant he had leaned his elbows on it. "And I haven't got the slightest clue where to start. Nothing out here would take me; now that the secret's out, people won't be quick to trust."

"They know you weren't involved."

"They _heard_ I wasn't involved. That doesn't mean they'll believe it. I'm sorry, Daph. I think… I think we might need to move."

I put a small hand to my mouth. Move? Never, in my seven years of life, had I considered such an option. We were supposed to stay here forever. Here, where my kindergarten class had birthday parties and play dates. Where the nice park with the birds and the climbing trees was just down the road. Where we were happy.

"I agree."

I frowned. Mom, how could you?

"I know it'll be hard, but… we're just not making enough out here."

"I've been looking for a new group, or solo gigs," Dad said. He started to speak, then stopped. He took a long, deep breath. "Daph, I know… how we feel about Gotham."

Mom sucked in her breath.

"But… whatever I apply for, I'm going to have this band on my resume. There aren't many people who would trust me after that. But in Gotham, there's a whole lot of programs in place for people like me who got mixed up with the wrong crowd. People who are innocent and need a new start. I think that guy your uncle works for set a lot of them up."

"You mean Bruce Wayne?"

"That one. Also, your uncle. We'd be a lot closer to him. I know how much you care about family."

"But… the city… and _Batman_ …"

My ears perked up. Batman? Were we going to move to Batman's city? Suddenly, moving sounded a lot more exciting.

"Another plus."

"Charles, that's not a plus."

"Yes, it is. Think about it. Maybe we get a few bad weeks—"

"More than a few. You remember… last time."

Silence fell again. My eyes travelled across the carpet. They were talking about Jeremiah, weren't they?

My twin brother. Who had died.

No wonder Mom was so reluctant. Last time we went into the city, we had gotten caught in a supervillain attack. I learned later that it was the Joker. What awful luck, right? Jeremiah had gotten separated from us in the chaos of getting out, and the GCPD had listed him among the dead. I never saw his body… never saw my brother again.

I heard Mom sniff. She had probably been thinking about Jem, too. I didn't want her to cry. I decided it was time to stop hiding, and ran into the dining room to give her a hug.

The conversation stopped after that. But a few weeks later, Mom and Dad sat me down and told me we were moving.

We were moving to Gotham City.

/

Mom had a singing gig every Monday and Thursday night. Dad was hired by a theater group as a pianist. They also got outside jobs—Mom at a laundromat, Dad at a fitness gym. Life in Gotham was drastically different from life in Bloomfield. But we adjusted, and we still had each other.

I started school in the city. It wasn't all bad. I made a couple good friends; there was one girl, Lucy, who took me out to eat at a burger place every Sunday when my parents were busy. She'd only ever talk about celebrities—the Waynes especially. She had a violent crush on one of them… Tim, maybe?

I'd go visit Mom and Dad at work when I wasn't at school. The gym let me in free every Wednesday. I would go after school and request Dad as a trainer, then take him somewhere away from everyone else and talk to him about my day while we worked out. With Mom, I'd bring our own laundry, and we'd stand next to the washer and talk. I guess that's most of what we did—talk. Silence was not a part of my childhood.

And then, with no warning, no precedent, silence became most of my life.

My parents went on a cruise when I was thirteen. We didn't expect anything harmful to come of it. They were back for a whole week before we noticed anything was off.

My dad got it first. At work, they thought he was just sick with a regular cold, because he said his throat hurt. They gave him a day off. And that day was the day he had the headache that sent him to the hospital.

He never came home.

He lived for another two years, but it was like he was living a half-life. Mom and I visited the hospital as often as we could, but she had to work twice as much because Dad was sick, and I was just starting high school. It was hard to find time. The last week, we just gave up and took the whole week off work and school. We didn't leave the hospital for five days straight. He wasn't awake for most of it, but on the very last day…

We were at his bedside. Mom had closed her eyes and was trying to rest, so I was the first to notice… his eyes had opened.

"Dad?"

His eyes found mine, and for a single, shining moment I wondered if he was finally getting better.

"Mom, he's awake," I said, rushing to take Dad's hand. Mom came over and held his other one. He looked between us and tried to smile; clearly, it took a lot of effort, but he managed.

And then he spoke.

"My girls," he whispered. He had to whisper; I don't think he had enough energy to do anything more. "My beautiful girls."

I smiled back at him, tears in my eyes.

Then he said, "Don't stop singing, Meadowlark, okay? Don't stop… ever."

His eyes closed again. Five minutes later, he was gone.

/

Mom got sick the next week; she managed to stay on her feet for a whole month, but after that, she just had to be brought into the hospital.

That's when Alfred found me. We'd been in touch on occasion, and he'd been to a couple family gatherings. But now that Mom was in the hospital, he started coming to the house, so I wasn't alone all the time. I was fifteen, going on sixteen, so Alfred helped me get my license. Then I could drive to and from the hospital—and my job, which I got at Alfred's urging. He probably knew I work better than I worry.

Mom died two years after Dad. No last words; just… gone.

/

I'm not sure how much of all that I communicated to Bruce in actual words. But I said enough to give him a decent story. When I finished, he leaned forward, hands clasped thoughtfully.

"The house… do you still have it?"

"No; we sold it before I moved to the Manor."

Bruce took my hand. He didn't smile or look at me with false sympathy. In fact, his whole face was the image of understanding.

"I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry for your loss."

I stared at the tray still sitting on my lap. I had forgotten it was there, since my legs couldn't feel it.

"I miss them," I said quietly.

Bruce squeezed my hand. "I know."

"Bruce?"

Dick stepped into my little corner, giving me a quick grin. "Bruce, it's time to go. And, uh, Damian's begging to drive this time."

"Tell him no, and I'll be right there."

Dick left, as did Bruce after a moment, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My heart hurt as many painful memories resurfaced—memories of brightly lit hospital hallways and a rain-washed landscape of headstones, as well as a narrow city alleyway flashing with bright colors and the screams of the Joker's victims. It created a jumbled stew of color and sound that overwhelmed me with emotion. I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes, begging sleep to make me forget.


	11. Chapter 10: Eight Little Letters

**Chapter 10 - Eight Little Letters**

That whole week, my legs didn't respond to anything. I tried picking them up at first, just bending my knees, anything. I massaged them with my hands, hoping maybe I could start something circulating again; then I stopped, because I couldn't feel it. It was like trying to move a couple of dead eels. I ended up simply willing my pinkie toe to move, just as a starting point. Nothing. Not a twitch.

I got lonely fast. The boys only hung out in the cave if something important was happening. Damian brought Pennyworth down to keep me company, but the cat still didn't seem to like me much, and he wandered the caves more than he sat with me. At least Alfred would sit with me; he filled the dreadful silence with mindless chatter.

And at night, I got plenty of entertainment. The first night of my captivity, Oddjob appeared again. He attacked two jewelry stores, stole some necklaces, and vanished, leaving behind only a rusty car part. Tim identified it as an old car axle and immediately ran it through the decoder, but even though he tried A, C, even X, there were no meaningful results.

Then there were mass burglaries. A couple rival gangs, probably emboldened by Oddjob's success, decided to have a theft-off, and broke into five different stores on opposite ends of Gotham City. Those nights were busier than usual; the boys had to split up and even call in some more obscure Batfam colleagues—and no, I didn't meet any of them. Oddjob himself didn't show, but we could all sense his influence.

Monday arrived. A whole week into my paralysis, and I was starting to get anxious. I didn't like sitting around doing nothing, especially in the echoing silence of the cave. Alfred sat with me for most of the morning; he seemed to understand I needed the company. But, after Tim kindly supplied lunch for Alfred and myself, Alfred said he had to go.

"Why?" I asked, a little more desperately than I meant to.

Alfred smiled and patter my cheek. "Don't worry; I won't be gone long. I have to work on cleaning the main ballroom."

I glanced at Tim. "Couldn't the boys help? It would get done faster. Better yet, have them do it all, and you can stay."

Alfred made a face. "I would, absolutely. Only… I don't trust them around the chandeliers." He tapped my chin. "Don't fret, love. Tim can keep you company 'til I get back."

As he walked away, I turned to Tim. "Any reason in particular Alfred is cleaning one of the ballrooms?"

"Bruce is finally having a party," Tim said. He made a face. "It's going to be a big one."

"What's the occasion?"

"Uh… my birthday."

I raised my eyebrows. First good news I had heard in a week. "When's your birthday?"

"July 19th." He sighed. "I didn't really want a big party, but Bruce wanted an occasion to invite all his business partners over, so…"

"Is it going to be an actual ball? With fancy dresses and everything?"

"Pretty much."

I was ecstatic for all of five minutes. Then the grin slid from my face. "I won't be able to make it."

"Why not?" Tim smiled. "You're one of the first people I'd invite."

My eyes travelled down to my unresponsive legs, and Tim followed.

"Sam, you can't think this will last all the way until then."

"It's already July 1st," I moaned. "If they're not back by now…"

Tim grabbed my hand. "We'll figure it out. Babs managed to look pretty good in a dress and a wheelchair."

My head whipped up. "What?"

Tim faltered. "Don't… didn't Alfred tell you about that?"

"Barbara was in a wheelchair? When?"

"A while ago." Tim scrunched up his brow as he recalled. "It's not a pretty story; I don't blame Alfred for leaving it out."

"What happened?"

"She got shot. The bullet hit her spine; she was paralyzed for a long time."

I stared at Tim with wide eyes. "And… how is she better?"

"Technology," Tim said. "An implant in her spine. If worst comes to worst, it's probably something we could try with you."

I looked back at my legs, those foreign, faraway lumps hidden under the blankets. I couldn't imagine having to live without them, but I also couldn't imagine getting technology implanted into my body.

"I have some work to do," Tim said, getting to his feet. "I'll just be over at the computer, if you need me."

He left for the computer, and I felt a strong urge to do something to distract myself. My eyes fell on Alfred's book, sitting on his chair. _Pride and Prejudice_. Again? I knew for a fact he had read the whole thing thrice before. I reached out and picked it up, examining the cover art.

All of a sudden, all the lights went out, plunging me into darkness. I froze, my eyes searching for signs of life.

"Tim? What happened?"

I heard Tim stop typing. "What?"

"What happened to the lights? It's gone dark. Over here, at least."

Tim didn't respond for a long time.

"Sam," he said slowly. "The lights… are fine. They're all on."

I blinked into the blackness. "Then why…"

Oh.

I was deaf a few weeks ago. Last Monday, I became paralyzed. And now, I was blind.

"Tim," I said, my voice shuddering. "Can you say something? Make some noise?"

I heard sounds, familiar sounds—Tim rising from his chair, walking toward me. The sound of a chair being pulled across the floor, and someone sitting in it.

"I'm right here," Tim said, his voice much closer now.

I reached out my hand. "Tim, I can't see. It's an attack."

"I know." Tim's hand wrapped around mine. "It's okay. I'll stay here until Alfred comes back. Do you want me to call him?"

I felt his fingers start to loosen. I gripped him tighter.

"Don't leave. I don't want to be alone."

"Okay."

We sat there in the dark. Every few seconds, I'd ask Tim to make some noise. He told me he was here. He said everything was fine. I hoped he was right.

With nothing to do but wait and hope, I started to think. For the first time, I was experiencing two attacks at once: paralysis and blindness. It meant my illness was progressing right on schedule. And if everything continued according to schedule, I'd be dead in about two years.

It's strange to know how long you have left to live. For me, it was a little better; two years is a long time. It gave me something of a chance to figure things out. There was time for my legs to get better, to be able to walk again. There was time to get to know the Waynes better and close out my time with them smoothly. There was time for me and Alfred to be alone, and time for us to be with other people. I was seventeen; I'd be just over nineteen when I died. A lot can happen between seventeen and nineteen.

But only two years? Other seventeen-year-olds were only just starting their lives; they had decades ahead of them. What if my legs never got their feeling back? What if I never met a man and fell in love? Never got to travel the world? What if I just… vanished, without a whisper? I didn't want to give up all my potential, all the life I could have lived, to a disease.

"Tim," I said slowly. "If I never… if my legs never work again… or I'm permanently blind… what'll I do with the rest of my life?"

Tim squeezed my hand. "That's not going to happen. We'll find a cure. We found a cure for Barbara; we'll find one for you."

"Right," I said, mostly to myself. "Right, I know. I trust you."

"Don't give up just because it seems bad now. Things could get better at any moment."

I nodded and closed my eyelids over the darkness. He was trying so hard to cheer me up, and I was trying just as hard to believe him. But it was starting to seem like this illness would never go away. However dark it was outside me, it was far darker inside, and it pulled me down into its depths like a black hole.

/

After that day, the attacks got more frequent—daily, in fact. My blindness had only partially subsided by Tuesday; I could just barely make out basic shapes, and I could tell what was a person and what wasn't, but I had no idea who was who until they started talking. Then, that afternoon, I had a head bomb again. I screamed into my pillow and held Alfred's hand in a death grip for half an hour until the pounding subsided to a dull throb.

Wednesday, my sight returned in full. I was hopeful. My migraine was gone. Maybe my legs would get better, too. But no! Instead, on top of paralysis, I got a fever. A bad fever, complete with vivid and wild hallucinations. It lasted until Friday, and my sight was hardly worth it, because I spent most of two days sleeping. Even awake, it seemed my world had turned into a nightmare. And Friday morning, just as my fever began to subside, my right arm went dead again. Friday night, I was still mostly paralyzed with shaky chills. And Oddjob chose then to show up again.

I woke up from a light doze just in time to see the Batfamily returning early from patrol. None of them looked happy.

"I can tell it didn't go so well," Alfred said, setting aside a cup of tea as he swiveled away from the computer.

"It didn't really go at all," Nightwing said. "He broke into three jewelry stores and stole—guess."

"I'm going to put my money on those bird necklaces from before."

"Give the man a prize," Jason said.

"He left a handkerchief behind," Batman said, handing it to Tim. "Scan it for fingerprints. See if he left anything on it."

"There haven't been fingerprints on any of his other tools," Dick said, taking off his mask. "There won't be any on this one."

"It's still worth a look," Batman said.

Jason removed his helmet. "Well, I, for one, am completely fed up with this b-grade villain. He's annoyingly good for a lowlife."

Damian walked purposefully past Alfred to the computer. "Shall I enter the mission data into the computer, father?"

"I can take care of that," Bruce said, removing his cowl and cape. No one else was watching, but I just managed to catch the meaningful look that passed between Bruce and Tim. "You boys should head to bed. It's late."

"It's only 4 a.m.," Jason said.

"Which makes it early," Alfred said. "The ballroom floor is still rather scuffed up. If you're not tired, you could wax it for Master Timothy's party."

"Bed it is." Jason made a show of yawning and stretching as he headed for the elevator. "G'night, all!"

Alfred grinned in triumph. "Nothing like a little motivation."

I barely noticed the interaction. I was watching Tim and Bruce. They kept looking at each other with increasingly odd looks, as if they were holding a silent conversation. Something was up.

Dick and Damian came over to say goodnight to me. As soon as they were close enough, I whispered, "Stick around, you two. I think Bats is hiding something."

Dick shrugged. "He's Batman. Of course, he looks like he's hiding something."

Damian shook his head. "No, she's right. Watch."

All three of us saw it this time: the furtive glance Bruce and Tim simultaneously shot at each other.

"There's clearly something going on between them," Damian said, his voice low.

Dick frowned. "Okay… well, we can't stay here, that would be too suspicious."

"We'll hide on the staircase," Damian said. "Samantha, keep an eye on them."

"Not really doing much else."

They left for their hiding spot. Alfred didn't stay much longer, giving me a weary pat on the head before he trudged off to the elevator. Tim sat down at the computer as Bruce came over to my bed.

"How are you feeling?" Bruce asked.

"Tired," I said. I didn't need to pretend; I was pretty zonked from fighting my fever. "I think I'll go to sleep. You and Tim do what you need; I'll be fine."

"Alright."

I closed my eyes and faked sleep for five solid minutes. I heard Bruce and Tim talking in hushed voices, and Tim typing on the computer. There was a moment of silence. Then they began to mutter more rapidly, and with heat. It sounded like they were discussing something important. I opened my eyes a crack.

The computer screen was opened to the decoding program. Tim had plugged in the last letter: H for handkerchief. My eyes traveled down to the top result.

SAMANTHA.

It took every ounce of restraint to stay silent and still. The eight objects… spelled my name? That couldn't be a coincidence. But why… _who_ …?

Before I could settle my thoughts, Dick and Damian burst from the shadows. They stormed up to the computer.

"So, this is your big secret!" Dick said. "How long did you know the letters would add up to this?"

Tim threw up his hands. "Great! Now there's more people freaking out."

"We didn't know," Bruce said. "We speculated. And hoped it wasn't right. But it was obvious from the beginning that the letters were all a part of her name. We made sure to mix in a couple incorrect ones—so the rest of you wouldn't start to worry about it."

"You tricked us?" Damian cried. "I thought you trusted us!"

"With my life," Bruce said. "But this isn't about trust; it's about fear. And Sam is already under so much weight from her illness, I didn't want to risk her finding out."

"So much for that," Dick said, pointing in my direction. "She's the one who figured out you were hiding something."

They all turned to me. I could only stare back at them.

"We're sorry," Tim said.

"I'm sure," I replied. I got into a better position and fixed them all with a pointed stare. "What were you afraid of, exactly? That I would go after Oddjob myself to find out why eight random objects he just happened to pick for his heists coincidentally spell out my name? Or that the stress of knowing would kill me faster?"

"We couldn't be sure," Bruce said. "We had to wait and see if all the letters were there, as well as if the coincidence was… too coincidental."

"You think there's a reason for this?" Dick asked. "That she's somehow involved in whatever's going on?"

"Why not?" Tim said. "She showed up at our house the same day Oddjob appeared for the first time. Who's to say they're not connected?"

"I'm not a villain," I said. "Or a spy."

"Maybe not. But there are other ways to be involved in a crime, in the broadest sense of the phrase." Tim tapped the arm of his chair. "Think about it. You and Oddjob coming onto our radar on the same day, his tools of infiltration matching the letters of your name like a code or an anagram… it's all too familiar. It's like every supervillain we've ever fought; something strange happens, people end up being unexpectedly connected, and ultimately, we get either attacked or betrayed."

"I would never betray you," I said heatedly. "I hope you know that."

Tim met my gaze. "I do. I've also been wrong about people before."

"We're willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, though," Dick said. "Right?"

"Of course," Bruce said. "She's probably the least likely person I know to have the reason or means to turn on us."

"Thank you."

"Besides, even if this is supposed to spell out 'Samantha,' it can't be _our_ Samantha," Dick said. "There's got to be a ton of Samantha's in Gotham."

"We checked. As of a week ago, there are five," Bruce asked.

"There you go," I said. "This has nothing to do with me."

"One is ninety years old and lives in the Gotham Senior Center," Tim said. "Three are under ten years of age. And the other one is you."

"So… maybe Oddjob's going to attack the senior center?" Dick suggested.

Tim shrugged in defeat. "We can't know. The only thing we do know is that our Sam is the only one in a position to see and understand the message."

"If it even is a message," Damian scoffed. "This is only one possible answer…"

"But one we shouldn't discount." Bruce crossed his arms. "You know how this works; we count everything as a possibility until it is proven impossible. So now, we do our best to figure out if we're right or not."

"I'm going to monitor the other Samantha's," Tim said, turning back to the computer. "Just in case."

"And then we're all going to bed," Bruce said emphatically. "For real this time."

I smiled bravely and caught Bruce's eye. "It's not me. I'm sure of it; this is all just a weird coincidence."

He nodded. "I'm sure it is."

I snuggled down under my covers and closed my eyes. This had nothing to do with me; it couldn't. I was just a normal girl with an admittedly unusual life, but no reason at all to be connected to a villain or his plan—which we still didn't know, anyway. I wasn't connected to Oddjob at all. Everything was fine.

Still… I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't a coincidence. I mean, I just happened to get hired by the man who turned out to be Batman. And he just happened to come across a thief with a penchant for random objects, all of which just happened to have starting letters that spelled out my name. My instincts asked over and over—what if it wasn't an accident? What if me being here, finding Batman, and being witness to Oddjob's shenanigans, was meant to be?

And if so, who was Oddjob, and what did he want with _me_?

/

We all gathered in the Batcave the next morning to tell Jason and Alfred. Jason took it fairly well; of the whole family, he seemed to care the least. But Alfred was instantly terrified.

"If that man is looking for Samantha, or trying to contact her in some way, who's to say he doesn't already know where she is, who she lives with, and exactly how to get to her?" Alfred sat forward in his chair. "You're looking into this, I trust, Master Bruce?"

"We're going to, Alfred," Bruce said. "All of us. But if Oddjob wants to keep secrets, it won't be easy to find them out. We have no idea where he goes each night; no idea if he's just a really good jewel thief, or if he has a larger goal. We've never seen his face, he's of completely average build, and the objects he uses have no connection whatsoever; there's nothing to track. Nothing to trace back to him. If we can't find where he lives, how are we supposed to find out what his plans are?"

"How do you deal with the Joker, sir? How do you figure out what a madman like that is planning?"

"Because Joker leads us on," Jason scoffed. "He doesn't really want to make things that hard, he just wants to make everyone miserable. But this isn't the Joker, so we'll have to think of something else."

"Well, think faster," Alfred said, getting to his feet. "I want my niece off the villain menu by tonight. I'm going upstairs to make breakfast."

As he stormed away, I had a sudden vision of Alfred in the kitchen, beating eggs and whisking pancake batter as if they were his arch nemeses, all the while wearing a fearsome scowl… and an apron. It was enough to make me grin. Alfred might not punch things to get his anger out, but he had his methods, and they were just as terrifying.

Dick noticed my smile. "Feeling better today?"

"I took my temperature this morning," I said. "Fever's gone. Now all I have is this stupid half paralysis. It's really annoying that I can only use one of four limbs, and it happens to be my non-dominant hand."

"You know what's even more annoying?" Tim said. "Having broken fingers on both hands so that you can't use either, especially when you have an online class to submit a paper for by midnight. Speaking from experience."

"Yeah, I had to transcribe for him," Dick said. "Which was disheartening, because he's a way better writer than I am."

"That's nothing," Damian said. "I once was attacked by one of father's personal enemies. I had all of my fingers broken, and nearly had my innards liquefied."

I wrinkled my nose. "Seriously?"

"That's nothing compared to how we've found Bruce once or twice," Dick said. "He'll come crawling into the Batcave with his cape torn off and half his mask missing, and he's got fifteen broken bones and seven fractures, plus a concussion and a punctured spleen. And he still gets up the moment Alfred's done stitching him back together and starts doing push-ups. He's seriously a beast." Dick glanced up. "Please don't tell him I said that."

"What about you, Jason?" I asked. "Any gruesome tales of woe for us?"

Jason gave me the ultimate deadpan look. "I died."

The cave went silent. I could feel the color drain from my face as I remembered what Alfred had told me: Jason was the first Robin to die on the job. How could I have been stupid enough to bring it up? He must have been horribly traumatized…

And then, Dick and Tim started… _laughing_.

I stared at them with eyes big as saucers. That only made them laugh harder. Even Damian was smiling.

"Your face," Dick sighed, wiping away a tear. "Oh, _priceless_."

"He brings it up almost weekly," Tim panted. "It's like the worst inside joke ever."

"It's a joke?" I cried, a little affronted by their lack of tact. "He… _died_. And you're laughing?"

"Don't take it that hard, kid," Jason said, a satisfied smirk on his face. "They're just more used to my sense of humor."

"Or lack thereof," Damian added.

"Hold on, now," Jason said with mock affront. "You know, one of the few things I got beaten into me that day was an instinct for comedy."

Beaten?

"It must have been the Joker's ridiculous puns getting stuck inside your skull," Damian sniffed.

Joker?

They kept talking, but I could only stare in bewilderment at their laughing faces. The last thing I had expected to get out of a conversation like that was new information on Jason Todd's demise. Those two words rattled around in my head – _beaten, Joker, beaten, Joker_.

Had the Joker been responsible for Jason's death? If so, how could they laugh? Death by Joker was one of the least funny things on the planet. I should know. The Joker—or at least, one of his laughing-gassed loons—murdered my brother when he was five.

My brother. That was the third time in two weeks he had come up. And thinking about my brother made me think about my parents. Thinking about any of them made me mad. They had all been killed by something—in my twin brother's case, someone.

 _Joker._

Not who I wanted to be thinking about right now. I tried to put on a brave face and rejoin the conversation, but nothing could wipe away the nasty image of a smile—a wide, vacant smile like the grin of Death himself.


	12. Chapter 11: Yesterday's Demons

**Chapter 11 – Yesterday's Demons**

After breakfast, Alfred pressured me to take a nap, claiming that if I didn't rest, my fever might come back. I let him tell me what to do; he deserved as much after the bomb we dropped on him that morning. So, I ended up wasting the hours until noon by sleeping.

I was awoken by the screech of bats overhead and the faint rushing of water. I felt strangely disoriented. My eyes still closed, I lay and listened to the many noises of the Batcave. There must have been a waterfall somewhere; if my legs worked, I would try to find it. The bats were easy to tune out now; it was like having hundreds of little pets, except I never really saw them.

Sighing, I began to pick myself up. That was when I realized what was different.

I could feel the blankets. They were heavy against my legs. But I could feel them. And my arm was working again. Everything worked. My paralysis had passed!

Without a second thought, I threw off my blankets and swung my legs out of bed. They started tingling like crazy, like my whole bottom half had pins and needles, and they felt as heavy as lead. But they were there! They were working!

I slid out of bed and carefully tested my legs. I moved them slowly, bending my knees, flexing my toes, lifting them as high as I could. My movement was limited, but constantly improving. I stomped my feet on the floor a few times, trying to wake them up. Then, looking up and trying to judge the distance, I decided to try to walk from my bed to the computer chair.

My first step didn't go so well; I got up nursing angry knees and elbows, trying not to blush too hard. The next step got me to one of the chairs set around for the family. I used that to get me to the doctor's chair, which had wheels on the bottom. I was suddenly two again, learning to toddle along using a cardboard box. But every step brought a smile to my face. A day ago, I had thought I might never walk again.

By the time I got to the stairs to the computer, I was walking fine. It took me a bit to climb the stairs, but I managed it, and slumped in the chair with a sigh of happiness. I did it!

And now I was sitting in front of the computer, with no one else around. The Batcomputer, which had access to everything.

I stared up at the glowing blue screen, my excitement turning to curiosity. I had all the time in the world now; I could look up anything. Anything at all…

Then I remembered my conversation with Tim yesterday, about Barbara being paralyzed. It didn't feel as urgent to look into it, now that I was better, but she was my friend. I wanted to know what had happened to her.

"Computer, find Barbara Gordon's file."

A file appeared. _Gordon, Barbara. Alias: Batgirl._

I smiled and started searching through the file. There were news clips praising her good deeds as Batgirl, and as Barbara. There were mission reports. There was a contact number, under the title _Oracle_. In fact, there were a lot of things with that label. It must have been an alternate superhero identity.

And then I found it. A news story: Barbara Gordon, shot and paralyzed.

My smile vanished.

 _Joker_.

It was him. He shot her, paralyzed her. And… holy heck. The pictures… My hand rose to my mouth. Babs, what did he do to you?

I closed my eyes, feeling suddenly guilty. I should have waited and asked Barbara herself. Now I knew things about her, dark things she probably didn't want me to know. Alfred was right; I was worse than nosy.

I looked at the screen again, but only for a moment. "Close file," I said.

The pictures went away, and my fingers slowly came to rest against the keyboard. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. Maybe I should actually talk to people instead of looking them up on a computer that was probably very objectively informed and would only show me stark facts.

But then I had a thought. Barbara had been one of the Joker's victims; I now knew of another. And he would probably never tell me, even if I asked. I couldn't make myself speak, so I typed the name.

Todd, Jason.

There wasn't that much on him - just a couple pictures, maybe a news article. There was one photograph of a clipping, a headline reading, "Bruce Wayne: Orphan Pity Philanthropist." Another, smaller heading said, "Jason Todd - Jason Wayne?"

Then my eyes fell on a file, labelled only "Jason."

It was filled with autopsy pictures.

So… he really had died. I sat back, shocked, as the truth finally and fatally sank in. _Jason had died_. He knew what death felt like. He knew more. I was right; he would probably never say anything if I asked questions. Especially if I did; he probably thought of me as nothing more than a guest, even a servant.

The report that went with the file wasn't very long. I read it quickly, barely skimming; I already knew what it was going to say.

 _Jason Todd, formerly known as Robin. Killed by the Joker._

There were only two other words in the report, written side by side in all caps.

 _NEVER AGAIN._

I closed the file. I didn't want to look at Jason's dead body. It was just… wrong. And disturbing.

There was a profile for _Alias: Red Hood_. On a whim, I clicked on it.

The computer gave me a message. _Alias: Red Hood. Duplicate file name._

Duplicate? Wait, so… there were two Red Hoods? That caught me off guard. I clicked the first profile and found a picture next to a couple stats.

 _Unknown. Alias: Red Hood._

Unknown. This person didn't have a name to go with him, so it couldn't be Jason. The guy in the picture did look different; the fuzzy security camera footage showed the iconic hood as little more than a tall red dome, like half of a pill. And he was wearing a tux and a cape. Definitely not Jason's style.

A little way down the page, I noticed something else.

 _Status: Alive, alias changed_

 _Notes: Origin of the Joker_

Huh. Wasn't expecting that. The original Red Hood… turned into the Joker?

Okay, wait. The Joker was the one who killed Jason. So why did Jason choose as his code name the former alias of his own murderer? Was it an act of defiance? Or was it a parallel? He did seem a little off sometimes. But not _Joker-_ level off.

I maneuvered back to the second profile. This one was more familiar. The picture was in focus, and showed Jason in his head-shaped helmet, as well as his favorite biker jacket. There wasn't much to see in the actual profile, other than his middle name—Peter. I had to remember that. I started looking through the various news articles that were attached, hoping to find some semblance of an origin story. But as I read, I found myself growing more and more horrified. These weren't glowing headlines and articles of thanks. There were no news clippings calling him a hero or thinking him for saving the day.

These were crime reports.

I couldn't stop reading them. Report after report told me, in gruesome, disheartening detail, everything Jason Todd did. He murdered people to stop a crime king called Black Mask. He killed people to make a point. I saw a photo of a blood-spattered card left on a victim, that read, "Let the punishment fit the crime."

Oh, Jason…

If I knew anything about Batman, it was that he had a very strict rule: no killing. Why would Jason so blatantly ignore that? And why did many of these articles pit him against Batman? Judging by the dates, this had all happened a while ago, not long after he came back. Did his death cause this? Was his brain affected or something? Why else would one of Batman's proteges turn to this sort of violence?

I knew Jason had always had an effect on me—a bad effect. The day I met him, as "John," my instincts had told me something was wrong about him. This had to be why. Jason Todd wasn't just a loose cannon; he was a killer.

"Hey…"

A frightened squeak escaped my mouth as adrenaline shot through my veins. I knew that voice. He was here, in the cave, standing just a few feet away.

 _Jason._

My blood ran cold as I turned to face him. I didn't know what to say. He was just standing there, holding a tray in his hands, staring at the screen littered with his bloody past.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking at me with a face half-angry, half-hurt.

I opened my mouth to speak, and nothing came out.

Jason frowned, and the anger started to take over. "Why are you looking at this? How did you even find it?"

He set the tray aside and mounted the stairs, each step bringing him closer, closer. I leaned away from him, clutching the arms of the chair. What would he do to me? I felt like I'd been reading gossip behind his back.

"I didn't… realize…"

"Are you stealing this?"

"No!"

Jason glanced down at me, and the anger flickered and faded a bit. "You found this by accident, didn't you?"

I nodded fervently.

He ran a hand over his face and seemed to regain some composure. "I'm sorry. I kind of thought… maybe you were working for someone. Trying to get information on me. I know a lot of people who'd pay for some."

Me? Get information and… sell it? I hadn't even realized that was an option. Then I understood.

"I'm not with Oddjob. We talked about this last night… after you left."

"Good. No, I didn't think… that's good."

He took in a long breath, then turned to me with a smile. "So, I guess you must be curious, then, if you're digging all of this stuff up. What's the occasion?"

I wasn't going to tell him I was looking up his past because I knew he'd never tell me himself. I cast about for some excuse.

"I was… interested in your… uh, methods." My mouth took over, running with the excuse like it was on fire. "I know that you guys work together a lot, and that you each have different aspects and methods; Dick is the acrobat, Damian is sort of a ninja, Tim does tech. So I was wondering what you do."

"I'm the big guns," Jason said, dramatically flexing his muscles. "Technically, I'm the only guns, unless you count Alfred. Batman makes me use rubber bullets, though; he hates thinking how easy it would be for me to kill someone if I used real ones. Doesn't seem to realize there are a million ways to use a gun without killing people."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "So, you… you don't kill people? Anymore?"

"I've agreed to live by Bruce's standards, and he's agreed not to talk about it. I'm just a regular vigilante with some added fireworks."

I ducked my head and added softly, "Who also came back from the dead."

Jason chuckled; the sound sent a shiver up my spine. "It didn't last that long, seriously. I was dead for a few months tops. It's a laughing matter now."

"I wouldn't think you'd _want_ to laugh… considering who killed you."

I didn't dare look up, for fear I had offended him with that last comment. But Jason just laughed even louder and slapped the back of the seat.

"See, you're getting it! Honestly, it's fantastic fodder for jokes. Makes up sixty-five percent of my humor. For instance: some people are zombies in the morning. I'm a zombie all the time!"

I stared at him, half ready to bolt for the door. He seemed so… _insane_.

Jason sighed. "Tough crowd. To be fair, that was one of my worst. Seriously, though, don't worry about it. I'm not actually a zombie; I won't eat your brains. I'm not a vampire, either. Can't turn into a bat. I bet Bruce would've liked that one. Lose me in among all the other ones living down here."

His face seemed to take on a darker, deeper aspect for a moment, and I could feel the heat of anger burning just beneath his sheltered gaze, like a flame held inches from a stick of dynamite. An instant later, the anger vanished, and Jason patted the back of the chair with one strong hand.

"So; do you want lunch? I brought you down a tray, but now that you can walk, you could come upstairs."

He walked off to fetch the tray, and I sat in bewildered silence, trying to process what had just happened. Jason couldn't be mentally stable. He had been through death and back.

Jason had been through death. He knew what it was like. I suddenly realized exactly what I wanted to know. I worked up the courage to speak.

"Jason."

He looked up from the lunch tray. "What?"

I bit my lip. "Did… did it hurt? Dying?"

Jason raised his eyebrows. "I think Hell would feel like a sauna in comparison. Why?"

I pushed deeper into the chair. "I just wanted to know. For my family." Maybe I didn't want to know anymore.

"You're asking for your parents' sake?"

"And my brother." I don't know why, but I told him. "I had a twin brother. He was killed in one of the Joker's attacks. I thought… since… you know. You might… know."

Jason snorted. "I know Joker isn't the type to recycle old methods. Death hurt for me, because he beat me half to death with a crowbar. Then he blew me up."

My mouth tasted sour. I _definitely_ didn't want to know.

"As for your brother—"

"Jason Peter Todd!"

I nearly yelped out loud as Alfred burst from the shadows, brandishing a mop. "Not another word out of your mouth! Upstairs, now!"

"I was just—"

"Upstairs! I'll deal with you in a minute."

Jason booked it for the stairs. Alfred turned to me with a mighty shake of his head.

"He should know bloody well not to go around talking like that. Not under my roof. How did he even get around to that subject?"

"I don't know."

"Was he bothering you? If he was disturbing you, I'll make sure to—"

"No, no, don't bother. He just… oh!" I glanced down at my legs. Thank God, a change of topic! "I forgot. Alfred, my legs are back!"

Alfred blinked. Then his face blossomed with surprise. "Oh! Oh, of course, I didn't realize… did you get over there by yourself?"

"I did, yes."

"Well, that's certainly good news." Alfred walked up to the computer to give me a one-armed hug. He gazed down at me fondly; then his smile dimmed. "Is there anything wrong? You seem a little pale."

"No, I think all my attacks have passed."

Alfred squinted at me. I squirmed, just a little. It was like he knew I was hiding something—like he could tell I was imagining a grinning face looming over a child's broken body, and it hurt my soul. But after a long moment, he stood back and nodded in satisfaction.

"I'm glad you're better. Now you can move again, I'd love to see you upstairs. I've missed you more than you can imagine."

I forced a smile across my tense face. "You, too."

"Would you like my help up the stairs?"

"I can manage. I… want to keep working my legs back into shape."

"Fetch me if you need anything," Alfred said. "Or send one of the boys. Shall I leave the lunch tray?"

I nodded. No way was I going upstairs; that's where Jason was.

Alfred gave me one last concerned look. "I'll see you when you come upstairs. Don't be long; we miss you up there."

He left, and I sat in front of the computer, trying not to cry. I hadn't cried because I was scared since I was a little girl. I wasn't about to now.

/

Alfred rolled into Bruce's study like a storm cloud. Jason was standing at one of the windows, patient and quiet, obviously doing his best to placate the vengeful butler. But Alfred was not ready to be placated; he had things to say.

" _What_ do you think you're doing, talking like that to my niece?"

Jason folded his arms. "She asked."

"And that's a good reason to tell her horror stories about how her twin brother might have perished?"

"Alright, Pennyworth," Jason snapped. "I was not telling her horror stories. I was actually going to tell her he probably didn't die as painfully as I did."

"There's a vast difference between what you think is comforting, and what will actually help. Now she probably assumes Jeremiah died the same way you did."

"Jeremiah?"

"Her twin! Who died when they were five, by the way. Five!"

"Which was a long time ago. She probably doesn't even remember it! She's not going to get that worked up about something that far past."

"May I remind you how recently she lost her parents?"

Jason threw up his hands. "Al, she'll be fine. She's a tough cookie."

"She's terrified of you! I could see it in her face! I assume she found out what you did after you returned from the dead; she probably thinks you'll murder her if she says anything you don't fancy."

Jason squared his jaw and glanced out the window. Alfred sighed.

"I'm not telling you to stay away from her; if anything, I want you to show her your proper self, the one I know can be kind and cordial. I'm telling you to have a little _tact_. Think before you speak."

Jason stared at the floor and didn't answer. He had finally run out of excuses. Alfred decided he was satisfied and turned to leave the study.

"Alfred."

Alfred looked back. "Yes, Master Jason?"

Jason blinked at the floor with a worried brow. "You really think she's scared of me?"

"I know she is, Master Jason." Alfred shot the boy a fierce, pointed glare. "Fix it."

/

I pried myself out of the chair and ate my lunch sometime around one in the afternoon. I went slowly, so maybe I wouldn't have to take the tray upstairs quite so soon. Jason seemed okay enough when he was far away; he was definitely less scary when surrounded by the other boys. They seemed to defuse the tension he constantly carried with him. But if I ran into him alone… I shuddered. Better not.

It was almost two when I convinced myself to venture upstairs. I peeked around every corner before turning it and glanced through every open door, just to avoid Jason. My common sense said I was being ridiculous, but my instincts didn't let me stop.

I assumed the kitchen would be empty; it would have been the perfect place to hide. But when I walked in with my tray, I found Alfred talking to Bruce and Dick. When they saw me, their faces lit up.

"Sam!" Dick pointed to me with both hands. "You're on your feet again!"

I tried to smile without wincing. Just what I wanted; company.

I let Dick give me a hug, and Bruce put a hand on my shoulder. "We've missed seeing you around the manor," Bruce said. "It's good to have you back."

"I've made a batch of biscuits, Samantha," Alfred said. "Care to join us for some tea?"

Oh. Tea and biscuits. That's why Bruce and Dick were here. If word got out, Jason might show up, too.

"Uh…" I backed slowly toward the supply closet. "Actually, Alfred, I thought I might… get back to cleaning."

"No need. I'll give you a day off."

"Well… but I've been in bed for so long. I've had so many days off already, I'd really like to work again."

Alfred seemed about to protest. Then, his face softened, and he nodded. "I understand. I was going to take care of the hallway mirrors on the ground floor this afternoon; you can handle that, if you'd like."

I smiled. "Thank you, uncle."

I gathered up some glass cleaner and a rag and headed for the first floor. I poured myself into my work, scrubbing every mirror with vim and vigor. After a while, I managed to scrub away my bad mood, too. I started making faces at myself, playing with my reflection. I sang showtunes like nobody could hear me. I even laughed. Having my body back in working order was the best thing to happen to me in a while.

"Sam!"

I froze.

 _Jason_.

I stared into the mirror. Not yet. I didn't want to talk to him yet. I scrubbed harder. Maybe he would leave me alone if I looked like I was busy.

"Hey, Sam," Jason said, slightly out of breath. "I've been looking for you. I wanted to… talk about this morning. In a good way! In the best possible way."

I glanced his way. He kept adjusting his jacket, like he was uncomfortable.

"Would that be okay?" he asked. "I don't want to interrupt you if you're busy…"

"I am a little bit," I said, trying my hardest not to snap.

"Right. Um…" He nervously combed his hair. "Maybe later? Would you want to… I don't know, get a drink or something…?"

"I'm seventeen," I reminded him kindly.

"I knew that." Jason cleared his throat. "Look, I, uh… I just really wanted to say, I'm sorry."

I stopped scrubbing.

"I didn't mean to freak you out," he continued. "I'm used to dealing with guys my age, people who've been through all the tough stuff I have. You, you're…"

"Fragile?"

Jason's eyes went wide. "No, no! I meant you're different. You haven't gone through all that. You know, you're not a vigilante or a superhero, like the rest of us."

I shot him a frigid glare. "You're not making me feel better, just _fyi_."

Jason ran a hand over his face. "Okay. Take two. Samantha Meyers, I've been a jerk, and I'm really sorry if I scared you."

Scared? I looked into the mirror again, searching my own eyes. Maybe I was a little scared of Jason. But Jason himself wasn't scary; I had lived with him for weeks before finding out about his past. What was I really afraid of?

"So, are we cool? You're good?" Jason asked, his hands folded in front of him as if he were praying. Was he really trying that hard to placate me?

I took a deep breath. "I'm not scared of you, Jason."

Jason wrinkled his brow. "Are you sure? Because Alfred—"

"Just let me finish?"

Jason held up a hand. "My bad. Go on."

"I'm not scared of you as a person," I said. "Jason Todd is fine. It's… it's Red Hood, Gotham's assassin vigilante, that scares the bejeebers out of me."

Jason shoved his hands in his pockets. "Okay, but that's still me, so what's…"

"The difference is that Jason Todd is still human. I can usually ignore the fact that you're a dead man walking. But as soon as you turn into the Hood… I don't know what you are anymore."

"I'm still me."

"Then maybe I should be scared of Jason Todd."

Jason flinched. "Okay, but what is it? What are you actually scared of?"

"I'm scared of the crazy man who goes around shooting people and calls it justice!" I yelled, fed up with trying to be nice. "It's the ultra-violence, the way you don't seem to have any mercy or soul! I'm not completely sure you came back with one!"

Jason stood, silent and stone-faced. I suddenly realized what I said; I could feel my hands start to shake.

"So. You took one look at a past I _left_ , and decided that's all there is to me?"

I put a hand to my mouth. I really did it now. Goodbye, world.

And then, Jason stepped back. He held out his hand. He didn't grab me; he just held it there, open, waiting.

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"Just come," he said, and I was surprised to hear a note of pain in his voice as he asked. "Please."

I looked at the hand. If I went with him, would it be a dark alleyway, or somewhere worse? Or… maybe was he just hoping to clear things up? Maybe he wasn't going to threaten me or hurt me or anything like that; maybe that note of pain was sincere.

I took his hand.

Jason steered me into one of the coat closets. He closed the door and turned on the light. I wasn't sure this was better than a dark alleyway.

"Here it is," he said. "All that stuff about killing people, using guns, it's way less me now than it was. Maybe it's still a tiny part of me, but I've changed. I do listen to Batman when he tells me to spare people. I just… don't like leaving criminals out on the streets with little more than a warning."

"Still sounds a lot like…"

"Just listen, please?" Jason sighed. "I was… angry. I had a lot going on, and I took I out on crime."

I frowned. "Why were you angry?"

Jason stared at me. I could tell he was thinking; his eyes were vacant.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" I said softly.

Jason scowled at the far wall. "Which beginning?"

"Whichever one you think will make most sense."

He was silent for a minute. His face never changed. Then, without warning, he started to speak.

"I think I've always been angry. My dad was a criminal. My mom was an addict. Home life was… strained, at best. So, I grew up angry. Angry that my parents died too soon; angry that I had no choice but to follow in their footsteps."

Wow. He had gone back to the _beginning_. But he was right; he already made more sense.

"You know how Bruce found me?" Jason suddenly smiled. "I was jacking the tires off the Batmobile. He thought it was so gutsy, he took me on as Robin. It was probably one of the first good things ever to happen to me. Bruce… was a good thing."

"So why…?"

"Oh, I'm getting there." The smile vanished. "You see, I didn't stop being angry just because some nice rich guy took me in. I was probably the angriest Robin ever, more even than Damian. But now I had an outlet. I threw myself into it so much, Bruce had to stop me more than a few times."

I looked up. "Did you ever kill anyone as Robin?"

"He managed to keep that from happening. But I came close once or twice. Like I said… I was an angry Robin."

"Is that why you…? You know."

"In a way." Jason dragged a hand through his hair. "So, a while in, I found out that… my mom wasn't dead."

"It runs in the family."

Jason snorted. "I guess. Bruce had been grounding me for a while; he was worried I might do something I'd regret. I didn't want him to stop me, so I went to find her on my own. But, turns out, she was working with the Joker on one of his schemes… not of her own free will, mind you. She wasn't bad. Just… in with the wrong crowd.

"Joker couldn't let either of us go; we knew what he was up to. We were evidence he had to erase. He beat me, maybe to take out his anger at Batman… maybe just because he's a maniac. Then he tied up my mother and locked us both in a warehouse with a bomb. I tried to get her out, but…" He lifted up his hands.

"So she's…?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

He just nodded, his eyes fixed. I sought for a way to get him going again.

"How did you come back?"

"Talia al Ghul."

My eyebrows skyrocketed. "Damian's mother?"

"The same. I don't remember how I got to wherever the al Ghuls live, or why they even had me in the first place. All I remember is waking up in some strange glowing pool and realizing… I wasn't dead anymore. I know now, thanks to a letter from Talia, that it was a Lazarus Pit – a well of life-giving water. And then Talia dragged me to a river and chucked me in, only telling me that Bruce hadn't avenged me."

He spat out those last words like a curse. I shifted nervously; he was getting angry.

"I got so mad at Bruce for letting the Joker go. I hated him - Joker, I mean - I still hate him. But what ticked me off, worse than any beating, was that Bruce didn't get rid of him. He didn't do his job; he didn't save the world from that sick, rabid lunatic. He just let him go, to keep hurting, keep killing, keep destroying families… and that tore me apart."

Jason closed his eyes and heaved a breath. I could tell he was trying his hardest to control his temper. Out of the depths of my heart rose a sudden pride. I never thought I'd be proud of Jason Todd.

"I lashed out at Bruce and Dick and Tim," Jason said. "I lashed out at criminals, too, but I also worked with them. I did whatever the heck I wanted, because I thought I was making the world a better place. I thought, if I killed him, took his place, I could do a better job."

"And?"

Jason glanced at me. "And what?"

"Do you still feel that way?"

Jason shook his head. "It's complicated. I've learned from my mistakes; I see why I was wrong. But… sometimes… sometimes I can feel it, all that anger I held onto for so long. All my skills, I learned because I was angry. If I ever did anything right, it was because I was angry for the right reason for once. And everything I did wrong…"

He fell silent with a shake of his head.

I finally realized what had been missing from my picture of Jason Todd. Here was a boy, killed by a psychopath, which would be traumatic enough, if he hadn't been miraculously revived just to discover that his own killer was still alive and free. I had always thought of Jason as untouchable, invincible, and full of a dark sort of life. But now, I saw him for what he was: a broken and miserable little boy, trying to save the world from a fate like his, and doing his best to fit into a family that saw him as a martyr, and worse, a rebel.

"Jason… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so hasty to judge you."

"It's fine. I probably didn't help my image much."

He seemed finished, but I had one last question; one last piece to the puzzle.

"Why did you change?" I asked.

It took Jason a while to reply. "It didn't happen all at once. It took weeks, months, to even start to forgive Bruce and the rest. I stayed out of Gotham for the longest time; I couldn't handle watching him go running across the rooftops with Tim. I called him my replacement for the longest time. Never figured that Tim would be the first one to… move past the mask and start… seeing Jason Todd. I dunno."

"That's a good start," I said.

Slowly, I reached out and touched his knee. He didn't flinch away, so I left it there.

Jason let out his breath. "In the end, what really brought me around… it was the Joker again."

"Really?"

"Yeah; guess history really does go in circles. A while ago, Joker attacked and kidnapped all the Robins and Batgirl, just to lure Batman. I think… if I recall correctly, he was trying to get Batman to realize how important their relationship was. Honestly, it was twisted and weird, but it got us all in one place."

"And you talked?"

"No… Joker coated the inside of my helmet with acid and almost melted my face off."

"Oh. Wow."

"Bruce and Alfred took care of me, and it meant I stayed in the manor for a while. And I remember this one night… sitting with Bruce alone. He let down all his barriers, and I saw for the first time how much… how he really…"

"That he loves you."

Jason didn't confirm it, but he didn't deny it, either. He just looked me in the eye and said, "That night changed everything. Most of all, it got me to try again – try to be something Bruce would be proud of."

A smile drifted across my lips. "So, you love him, too."

"If you tell, I'll…"

"Kill me?"

Jason glanced up at me guiltily. "I don't solve all my problems that way."

"I'm glad."

Jason looked at me for the first time. "You're so… _good._ How does anyone get that good? Especially in Gotham."

I patted his knee. "Maybe because there are Bruce's and Tim's and Alfred's out there in the world. People who know what's good for us and give it to us, even if we don't want it."

"You're good at… saying things."

"You're… not a homicidal maniac."

"That's one of the nicest compliments I've ever been given."

We laughed, awkwardly, quietly. But when we looked at each other again, it wasn't cold or distant or nervous. It wasn't a passing glance between two people who hardly knew each other. We were new and different, and I could sense it.

We sat in the closet for a few minutes, not talking, just thinking. And I realized something wonderful. My first brother, I had lost to the Joker. And now, thanks to… everything, here was another one, given to me, in a roundabout way, by the Joker.

How crazy, right? Isn't that just Gotham.


	13. Chapter 12: Enter a New Year

**Chapter 12 - Enter a New Year**

Jason wasn't sure what had just happened.

Somehow, Sam had wheedled the story of his life out of him in a matter of minutes. Alfred was right, she was worse than nosy. But then… he had started to feel… better. Was that okay? Should he feel better about all that?

Well, whether it was right or not, Sam had done it. And Jason felt happier than ever.

That girl was something else.

So, his first impression of her had been rather shallow. A little Disney Princess-esque. Those first couple times he saw her, back before "John" appeared, she had talked and moved with such practiced cordiality. She hid obvious troubled feelings behind a mask as perfect and impenetrable as the Bat cowl. It had felt wrong.

But now Jason knew why. It was because that wasn't the real Samantha Meyers. Sam didn't like pretending to be happy; either she was, or she wasn't. After she found the cave, she had slowly but surely grown more comfortable in her new and strange situation, and more of the real, funny, witty, sincere Samantha had come out.

When had Jason noticed all of this?

He followed Sam to the kitchen as she returned her cleaning supplies. She continued to do chores, washing dishes, doing laundry, tidying up the front hall. Jason didn't leave her side. They talked about meaningless things, bantered from time to time, and occasionally just cleaned in relative silence, side by side. Jason had never enjoyed anything more.

They were called to dinner by Damian, who squinted at Jason with something like a warning. Jason got the message: be nice to Sam. He didn't have to be told; he didn't plan on doing anything else.

They arrived together and found the dining room already full. Jason pulled out a chair for Sam, playing up the gentleman as much as he could to see if he could make her laugh. It worked.

"Hi, uncle," Sam said, giving Alfred a peck on the cheek as he came by to serve her. "Need my help?"

"Not just now, love."

As Jason sat down, Alfred shot him a glance. The butler scanned Jason's face long and hard, but Jason didn't flinch. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt like he had nothing to hide.

/

The next two weeks passed quickly. Things fell into routine, like my daily chores, and semi-daily physical tests. We didn't pick up anything worrisome, and I finally began to relax; a break from attacks was just what I needed.

Bat matters got pretty boring, too. Oddjob vanished once he finished spelling out my name. Nightly patrolling didn't get much more intense than a couple bank robberies. Life felt normal again, and I couldn't help but feel relieved.

The one big change that happened was Jason. I went from purposely avoiding Jason to intentionally seeking him out whenever I was bored or tired or sad. He didn't usually go through the rites of normal conversation, like the others did; he just kind of entered my vicinity, sat on the nearest flat surface, made pun after stupid pun, and occasionally tugged on my ponytail or threw candy wrappers at me. He was funny, witty, and undeniably present. It took me a few days to realize why I loved his company so much.

Jason was filling one of the oldest holes my heart had suffered. He was filling in for Jeremiah.

Life didn't stay normal forever. That second Thursday was Tim's birthday, and Bruce had planned a huge party for the day after. That week, Wayne Manor went into full party mode: Alfred and I took on the grand ballroom, waxing the floor, dusting every nook and cranny. We planned a menu, hired a DJ, and got the boys' suits dry cleaned. Alfred was completely in his element, running about the house, ordering people around, and keeping everything systematically ordered and recorded.

On Tim's birthday, we had a small, private party. We invited Babs, made Tim's favorite dinner, and opened gifts. It was such a nice little gathering; but it didn't really hit me until Alfred brought out the cake.

And then everyone sang "Happy Birthday."

I grinned and opened my mouth to join them, but nothing came out. As I listened – they were all surprisingly good – it felt like a weight was being lowered onto my chest.

The last time I heard that song was on my mom's birthday. And I sang to her alone.

Even after the song was over and the cake had been served, I sat there sinking into the music, trying my hardest not to cry. It was Tim's birthday. Today was supposed to be happy. I couldn't break down in the middle of his party!

Then Tim stood up. He was holding a plastic cup filled with sparkling juice. Everyone was, but me.

"I know everyone hates birthday toasts," Tim began.

Jason booed. Dick punched him in the arm.

Tim cracked a smile. "But this year… I really have something worth toasting. I should really start by saying thanks for all the presents, and Alfred, the cake, as usual, is sublime. But what I'm really thankful for, what's made this year of my life special, and what I hope will continue to do so this next year… is you, Sam."

Oh, no.

I tried to fight down the lump in my throat as Tim continued. "Samantha Meyers, you've made this crazy, distracted family feel closer than ever. You've given every single one of us a reason to smile. And I think, if it's not too much, you're probably one of the best things ever to happen to this family. Not only have you given Alfred a much-needed break, but you've reminded every single one of us that while life is short, and hard, and full of roadblocks, it's also huge and wonderful and worth every minute."

"And any life with Sam's pies in it is a good life," Dick put in.

"Oh, absolutely. So, here's to Sam, savior of the Waynes."

Tim raised his glass, and the others followed. Jason grinned.

"Of all the sappy speeches I've heard in this house, that was one of the okayest. To Sam!"

"To Sam!"

It was no use now. The tears were flowing freely by the time everyone had taken a drink and set their cups down. Alfred put an arm around me and kissed the top of my head. Babs squeezed my hand.

I felt so loved. It wasn't _my_ birthday, right? Because this family was one of the best gifts I had ever been given.

/

The next night, I hoped, would be much less emotional.

My first Wayne party! It was time to pull out all the stops. I searched my new wardrobe for the perfect dress and surfaced with a full-length dress made of a soft, sleek chiffon in a glorious emerald green. Babs came over an hour before the party to do my hair and makeup, and I have to say, I have never felt so beautiful in my life. Who would have thought that a vigilante crime fighter could be so good with cosmetics?

She and I went down to the ballroom together and met Bruce and the boys outside. There were also some other girls I had never seen before. Babs seemed to know them, judging by the way she leapt upon them with squealing laughter.

Alfred came up behind me, smiling. "You look stunning, my dear."

"Thanks, Alfred. You look quite sharp!"

Alfred straightened his bow tie. "One of the perks of being a server, is you can wear anything and still blend seamlessly into the background."

"But you'd never miss an opportunity to wear a suit."

"Clearly."

"Sam!" Babs tugged at my arm. "Sam, I need you to meet some people."

She dragged me over to the other girls and pointed to the blonde one. "This is Stephanie. She was Batgirl for a bit, before I took over again, and now she's Spoiler."

I blinked. "Oh, wait, so you're…"

"And this," Babs said, nodding to the black-haired girl, "is Cassandra. Would be assassin, joined us and became Orphan, and is probably the best fighter I've ever seen."

"You're both Bat-people?"

"Yep!" Stephanie cried. "Sisters in crime! Well, not crime, obviously, stopping it."

"And guys," Barbara announced, "this is Samantha. Alfred's niece."

Stephanie gasped. "I didn't know Alfred had a niece! That's so sweet!"

"Alright, Waynes and honorary Waynes," Bruce said. "I know it's been a while since we've had a big party all together, so I'm going to remind you of the rules. No alcohol unless you're twenty-one or older. Jason, the three-glass limit still stands. There will be no rough-housing, no obvious bickering, and no smashing of any property, no matter how temptingly breakable. Damian, Jason, and ladies, I will expect civility and manners, which means no judo flipping guests, even if you don't want to dance with them. And finally, as always, any _activity_ will be paged through _my_ phone. Should the need arise, I will contact the rest of you, but otherwise, make sure anything Bat related remains hushed."

Alfred looked at his watch. "Master Bruce, fashionably late is waning fast."

"Then let's make an entrance. Smiles, civility, and for the last time, don't do anything stupid. Follow me."

I blinked and dumbly followed Babs. I wasn't quite sure what to make of Bruce's speech. How much of that had actually happened?

Alfred opened the double doors with a grand swing, and suddenly, I was walking out into a luminous ballroom, raised above the crowd by a few stairs, with the eyes of about three hundred people turned on me. Not just me, obviously, but that's how it felt. This was worse than school plays.

As soon as Bruce stepped out, the applause started. Even from behind, I could tell he was different. His back was straight, but his shoulders slouched more than usual, conveying a sense of nonchalance. The way he stood was completely unfamiliar.

"Hello! Welcome, everyone! Thank you for coming!" Bruce held up his hand for silence, and it came quickly. "In case any of you don't know me, I'm Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises…"

A mild laugh bubbled from the audience. Bruce laughed right along with them, and the sound was so unexpected, I flinched.

"Yeah, who doesn't know me, right? Anyway, I trust you all know why you're here - and that's to celebrate the nineteenth birthday of my son, Timothy. Come on up, Tim!"

Tim walked forward to more applause. He looked cool as a cucumber, and I couldn't help but envy how comfortable he looked in front of an audience.

Bruce put an arm around Tim's shoulders. But it looked… wrong. Like Bruce wasn't really giving Tim any sort of fatherly recognition. Like it was uncomfortable.

"Nineteen, huh? Very proud of my boy. Anyway, don't let me bore you; let's hear it for the man himself!"

Bruce stepped back, and Tim took the mic.

"Well, first off, I'm actually turning eighteen."

More laughter. I glanced at Bruce. He never got his facts wrong.

And that was when it hit me. Bruce wasn't being Bruce; he was being Mr. Wayne, billionaire playboy, as I'd heard him called. He was acting. Of course, he knew Tim was turning eighteen. Of course, he wouldn't embarrass him with an awkward half-hug. This was all fake, a persona Bruce put on for the rest of the world.

What should I do? Should I act, too? I realized that the world didn't know me. I had never been to such a big party, with so many important people. I could be anyone. I could be perfectly healthy. I could be smart. I could be pretty.

What to do?

"...thank you all for coming and have a great evening!"

The crowd clapped once more, and Tim left the mic. Bruce led the Batfam down from the stage, and suddenly, people were vanishing into the crowd. I hesitated at the edge, not sure how to proceed.

Then a hand grabbed mine and pulled me in.

I looked up to see Cassandra leading me, walking swiftly and gracefully through the crowd, people parting for her as if she were a dignitary. I realized I had never heard her speak a word. She didn't need to; she radiated an elegant, silent power that would make anyone back away.

We came out by the food tables. Cassandra turned to me.

"Start small."

I smiled. "Thanks. Cassandra, right?"

"Call me Cass."

"Alright, Cass. Call me Sam."

Cass nodded. "Sam. Come with me!"

She led me up and down the tables, and we piled samples of anything we wanted onto tiny plates. Alfred smiled at me from behind the punch bowl and handed me a cup filled more than the others. Then Cassandra whisked me off to a remote corner table, with only one occupant: a tall, shady looking man with a formidable mustache and greying hair. I sat down a chair away from him, nervous.

And then Cass plopped down right in between us.

"Hello," she said, not at all like a formal greeting. It sounded like she knew this person.

"Evening, ladies," the man said in a wheezy voice, shaking his mustache at us. "What a fabulous party… who is it for again?"

Cass puckered her lips… and flicked the man in the arm. Hard.

I blushed, shocked for her. But the man just laughed. And I realized I had heard that guilty, impish laugh before.

I squinted past the mustache. "Jason?"

"Who's Jason? My name is Jackson Bird. I'm a small businessman. Woodworking. It's a small and scant business, but hey, it's home."

"Jason, it's just us."

"Sh! You never know who's listening!" Jason said, his regular voice slipping back for an instant. "Besides, Jackson's fun!"

"Jason's dead," Cass whispered.

"Wha… oh. Oh, you mean, like, publicly dead. I knew that..."

"Hey, guys!" Dick swooped in and stole a seat. He thumped his overfilled plate on the table and dug in. "Great party!"

Tim joined, too, looking a little gloomy. "Yeah, great."

I peered at him. "What's wrong?"

"Bruce's birthday parties are always fun for everyone except the birthday person. Because there are at least two hundred overdressed adults who, no matter what, always think you're still twelve and can't resist pinching your cheeks."

Oh. I thought he was just blushing.

Bruce appeared over Tim's shoulder. "You clearly haven't found the really important guests yet."

Tim frowned. "What, more dignitaries?"

"No." Bruce cracked a smile. "Your classmates."

Tim sat bolt upright as three high school age guys came out of the crowd. The smile on his face told me these were more than just classmates. The four boys exchanged long, complex handshakes and thanked Bruce over and over for inviting them. Tim's glee confirmed Bruce had just made his night.

I smiled as they vanished into the crowd, heading for the refreshments. "No doubt now, you're a cool dad, Bruce."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Bruce asked. "Actually, I got the idea from Alfred. Something about seeing you with other people your age… and speaking of people, I have some that I want you to meet."

"Oh! Uh… sure!" I got up and followed Bruce, trying my best to stay in the wake of his presence. People moved for him - not so much for me. Not yet, anyway. I shoved my shoulders back and tried to walk with confident strides, like Bruce did.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a young man, about my age, staring at me as I walked past. I didn't look back in time to see who it was. Maybe one of Tim's friends.

"Ah, here we are!"

I turned my eyes back to Bruce, to find he was standing shaking hands with another man. Tall, powerfully built, smiling from behind a pair of glasses.

"Samantha, meet Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet, and a good friend of mine. Clark, this is Alfred's grandniece, Samantha Meyers."

Clark looked down at me and held out his hand. "How d'you do, Miss Meyers?"

"Good, thank you," I said. This guy was even more intimidating than Bruce, except for his smile. When I shook his hand, I was worried my tiny hand would be crushed in his. I could even tell that he was trying to hold me loosely and shake gently, as if he knew his full strength would be too much for me.

"How is it living in Wayne Manor, then?" Clark asked, adjusting his glasses.

"Oh, fine. Bruce and the boys have really made me feel at home."

"Now, if you're Alfred's niece, then does that make you a guest, or…?"

"Actually, I work for Mr. Wayne. I'm the maid."

"Oh, really? Must pay well, right, Mr. Billionaire?"

I shot Bruce a snide grin. "Well enough, though I bet I could wheedle a little more out of him."

There was a gasp, as a woman walked over to Clark and took his arm. "Clark, you're not chatting up Bruce Wayne by yourself, are you?"

"Ah, Samantha, this is my wife, Lois," Clark said. "This is Samantha Meyers. Alfred's niece."

"Nice to meet you, Samantha."

"You, too, Mrs. Kent."

"So, is there anything else you can tell us about life in the Manor?" Lois asked. "Clark and I are always looking for a scoop."

"Oh, well, I'd probably not be the best source." I glanced at Bruce. "I don't do much other than cook and clean."

Lois grinned. "Well, if you ever need to get away from all the hustle, bustle, and drama, you're welcome to come spend a weekend in Metropolis. I've got a son, Jon, and between him and his father, it's hard to get in any quality girl time."

I nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Kent."

Bruce was peering through the crowd. "Clark, I have some more people for Sam to meet. Will you be at the after party?"

Clark nodded. "Oh, of course. The whole Kent clan will be. Couldn't refuse Jon his playtime with Damian."

"Certainly not. Enjoy the party, Kents!"

As we left, I looked up at Bruce suspiciously. "Was that a test?"

"Was what a test?"

"They're the press. You were trying to get me to spill something."

"Why would I do that? No, they're just good friends. I thought you'd want to meet them; I'm sure you'll see them around often enough."

Hm. So not a test. But Bruce definitely felt more Batman than Mr. Wayne right now.

Once again, as we moved through the crowd, I could feel eyes on the back of my head. I turned around, but only caught a fleeting glimpse of the same young man vanishing behind another group.

"Bruce, I think someone's watching me."

Bruce paused, then grinned. "Why not? You look lovely."

"Bruce!"

"Alright, alright. But if you feel uncomfortable…"

"No. No, it's fine. I was just… I wondered if you knew them."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. He's… gone now. He keeps vanishing when I try to see him."

Bruce's steps slowed, and his business face turned on for a second. "Okay. Well, keep looking. And tell me if you ever feel uncomfortable. You can leave anytime."

"I'm fine."

"Good. Then let me introduce you to… Diana Prince."

Wow.

Before me was one of the most powerful looking women I had ever seen. Dressed in a stunning red dress, her hair pinned up effortlessly, and standing with all the dignity and authority of an empress, she was exactly how I would picture a real-life goddess.

"Diana, this is Samantha Meyers. She's Alfred's grandniece."

Diana held out her hand. I took it, and she squeezed it gently - not a handshake, but a simple and kind acknowledgement of my presence.

"I'm so pleased to meet you," Diana said, the remnants of an accent lingering on her tongue. "I didn't know Alfred had a niece."

"Hi." Don't act stupid in front of her, Sam. Say something. "Uh, I love your dress. It's very pretty."

"Thank you! Yours is lovely."

"I've just introduced her to Clark," Bruce said. "He says he'll be at the after party. Will we be seeing you, too?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world. Will Samantha be there?"

"Of course!"

They smiled like it was nothing, but for some reason, I felt as if they'd just had a whole conversation without me.

"You can tell her all about your work," Bruce said.

"Oh… what do you do?"

Diana cocked her head. "Well, I work in a museum, and I look at a lot of old artifacts to see if they're authentic or not."

"So, are you an archeologist, or you just study what they dig up?"

"Good question… if they ever gave my job a name, I've forgotten it."

"Hey, Di… oh!" Another man - tall, blonde, and lanky - came up beside Diana, carrying two glasses of champagne. "Oh, hey, Bruce."

"Perfect timing," Bruce said. "Barry Allen, meet Samantha Meyers. Alfred's grandniece."

"Cool!" Barry handed a glass off to Diana and pumped my hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Barry."

"Yeah, Bruce just told her," said another man. I knew this one - he was almost as famous as Bruce Wayne.

"Oliver Queen," I gaped.

"I like your dress," he said, shaking my hand. "Green's a good color."

Oliver Queen, the other billionaire. The one every girl in last year's senior class couldn't stop giggling about. He was pretty handsome, but way too old for any of them.

"Thank you," I said. "Alfred got it for me."

"So how are you related to Alfred, again?" Barry asked.

"Alfred's sister was my mother's mother."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot Alfred had… family." Barry quickly sipped his champagne. "How is your, uh, family?"

I blinked rapidly and tried to think of something to say. How did I know it would come around to this eventually?

Bruce put a hand on my shoulder. "Her parents, sadly, passed away - her mother just a few months ago."

The grown-ups maintained a careful silence as this sank in. This is what I always hated about having conversations about my parents: no matter what, kids would act shy and awkward and grown-ups would act all-knowing and gentle.

"I'm sorry," Barry said.

Oliver snorted. "Y'think? Sorry about him, kid. His mouth moves faster than his brain."

"Have you been living with Alfred?" Diana asked.

"Yeah, here at the Manor. I do housework."

Diana smiled. "I'm glad you haven't been alone."

Bruce patted my shoulder. "Sam, why don't you go get something to eat? I'm going to open the dance floor in about fifteen minutes."

I nodded and made my exit. That had been plenty awkward. I didn't need to embarrass myself by dancing, too.

/

Bruce turned to his colleagues. "She'll be fine."

"I'm so sorry, Bruce, I really am." Barry swirled his drink rapidly. "I had no idea…"

"It's not like it hasn't happened before."

"She's so sweet," Diana said. "I absolutely love her."

"Bruce," Oliver said. "What's with this afterparty, exactly? I mean, if it's just for Tim…"

"Not that we don't care about Tim," Barry cut in. "We just… you know, don't usually all end up in the same place. For a birthday."

Bruce smiled and tapped his nose. "It's not just for Tim. It's for her."

He nodded to Samantha, who was hanging out with Dick and Tim at the dessert table. "She doesn't know yet."

"That was pretty obvious," Oliver said.

"Tonight, I'm going to tell her. I'm going to introduce you all, plus anyone who comes later. Then she'll be fully initiated; no more secrets."

Barry and Oliver took a step back in shock. "Did Bruce Wayne just say, 'no more secrets?'"

"Who are you and what have you done to our billionaire playboy?"

Bruce sighed. "Diana, sometimes, I wonder why I hired these buffoons."

"Because you need them," Diana said with a smirk.

Bruce grinned. "Of course not. Excuse me, you three. I have a very important announcement to make."

/

I downed a second glass of punch as I stood at the refreshment table. Tim glanced at me as he walked over.

"That punch isn't spiked, right?"

"Of course not," Alfred said. "This is a party for high schoolers."

"There's still grown-ups," Jason said, sidling over casually. "Say, old man, d'you have anything… more aged?"

"Not for you."

"Worth a shot."

Suddenly, someone tapped the mic up front. I turned to see Bruce standing on the platform again.

"Hello again! Hope you're all enjoying yourselves. For all the adults in here, I have an apology to make. My son… well, he's got a lot of buddies on the younger side, and he managed to convince me to hire a DJ. So… for all of you in the high school age range, the dance floor is now open!"

I was surprised to see how many people started making their way through the double doors Alfred opened. I could see colored lights, and hear loud music, even feel the beat through the wall.

Dick came sweeping past, dragging Babs behind him. "Come on, you guys! It's party time!"

"I'm a respectable businessman, Dick," Jason said, straightening his fancy tie.

"Shut up, babyface! Come on!"

Cass appeared at Tim's side, her excitement tangible as she hopped in place. She already had her shoes off.

"Sam, you should come! There's tons of girls here your age." Tim made a face. "Bruce invited the whole class."

"Oh, no, I… don't really dance."

Cass grabbed my arm and tugged. "Dance!"

I turned to Alfred for help. But my uncle just smiled with amusement. "I'd say a night of frivolities is just what you need, my girl."

I sighed. "Fine…"

Cass squealed and dragged me half off my feet with her glee. Tim, Cass, and me all burst into the dance room at once.

I saw Dick at once. Barbara was nearly doubled over laughing at him as he pulled out every sick move he could think of. He was pretty obviously the best on the floor, but he covered it up by doing goofy things like the Sprinkler and disco. He caught my eye and waved me over.

I tried to move cautiously through the crowd, but there were some crazy dancers. It looked like Tim's whole school had showed up for this party. It was definitely more people than I'd had in my junior class. I slid between two people, only to be squashed by two more and nearly knocked down by a third.

Cass held me up while making her own way through the throng with incredible ease. She moved like no one I had ever seen, swift and fluid, as if she could anticipate every movement, every jostle and slip past before it happened. She led me gracefully and quickly to Dick's side.

"Thanks, Cass," I said, slightly breathless. "I'm not really a dancer."

"If anyone is, it's Cass," Babs said.

Cass was already preoccupied, her face turned toward the massive speakers, listening to every beat of the music. She began to move, and everything she did, every twist and turn, was a perfect adaptation of the music's sound. It looked almost like the song was coming from her. I watched her for a minute, mesmerized.

"Like I said." Babs poked my shoulder. "Alright, Sam. Your turn."

"I don't dance."

Dick cocked his head and examined me. "Do you know how to swing dance?"

"Uh… no."

"I'll teach you! It's the easiest one out there."

Dick held out his hands, and after a moment, I realized he wanted me to take them. "Oh, no, I really don't…"

"Come on, it's fun!"

"He's taught me," Babs said. "Trust me, it's really fun."

I hesitantly took Dick's hands. He then showed me how to do the regular swing step - back, two, over, two, side, two. Back, two, over, two, side, two. It took a bit, but I got the hang of it. Then he started getting crazy. He taught me the Pretzel, the Scorpion, and the Doggy Door, then asked me if I was ready for an aerial.

"Uh, no way."

"Come on! I used to do trapeze in the circus. This is nothing. Just a little aerial."

I shrugged. "Fine. Just don't drop me."

"That's a joke, right? Okay, start like this… spin in, spin out… spin in again, and you put your arm over my shoulder."

I followed the steps. "And…?"

"Alright, I'm going to bend down, and you need to jump onto my knee, and then I'll fling you off."

"Heh, uh, I don't know if I'm…"

"Okay, wait, watch me and Babs do it." Dick turned to Barbara. "Babs, com'ere. I'm going to show Sam the little aerial."

I watched as they executed it perfectly. Babs spun in, out, in again, flung her arm over his shoulder, then jumped up. At the same time, Dick bent down, so Babs landed on his knee. Both pushed up, and Babs spun out into the air, hair flying, and landed on her feet as easily as a cat.

"See? Easy." Dick held out his hands. "Now you…"

Out of the blue, the speakers turned up so loud, everyone covered their ears and shrieked with pain. I ducked under the sound as it blasted overhead, trying to make out what was happening up at the DJ's table. The DJ was busy trying to plug his ears and turn down the volume at the same time and having obvious difficulty.

Suddenly, someone spun me around. I had only a moment to register a man's build, a head of dirty blonde hair - and a mask. A black, full face mask, plastic, like a stage prop. Then he shoved his mouth up to my ear.

"Come with me," he yelled. "Quick."

I struggled to get away, but the man was holding me very tightly, trying to drag me through the crowd. I dug in my heels, my ears screaming in pain as I uncovered them to fight.

"Let go of me!"

The man shouted over his shoulder. I didn't catch all of it; all I heard was, "There isn't time!"

"Let go!"

The DJ finally got the music back to normal volume. My foe started to pull harder, but it was too lat. Dick appeared beside me and punched the mystery man in the face. I fell backward as the man let me go, tumbling into Barbara's arms.

"You okay?" Babs whispered in my ear.

My heart was pounding in my head. My brain felt fried. I didn't know how to process what had happened - what was happening. I watched in a haze as Dick tried to confront the masked man, but the stranger vanished into the crowd of dancers as quickly as he came.

Dick turned back to me. "Are you okay? Sam? Did he hurt you?"

I shook my foggy head, staring after my attacker. Why had he worn a mask? This wasn't a mask party…

My vision went dark and fuzzy for a moment. Next thing I knew, Babs and Dick were half leading, half carrying me off the dance floor. They sat me down and leaned me against the wall.

"Sam?" Dick squeezed my wrist. "It's alright, we've got you."

Babs sat next to me and leaned my head on her shoulder. "Sh, it's okay, it's okay."

"Sorry," I said. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect…"

"Sh. You're fine, don't be sorry. You're just scared, that's all. It's alright, he's gone."

Cass walked up behind Dick and squatted down. "Get Alfred."

"She'll be fine now…"

"Get. Alfred."

Dick stood and trotted away. Cass took his place, felt my pulse, put a hand on my cheek. "No more dancing."

I got out a laugh. "No, I don't think so."

Cass smiled. "She's okay."

After a moment, Alfred and Dick came running. Alfred looked terrified. He knelt by me and started checking things.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine…"

"Her pulse is a bit high. Barbara, lay her down. Sam, tell me how you feel. Do you feel dizzy?"

"No, I'm fine."

Alfred nodded. "You're only a little pale. Just lie down for a minute." Alfred turned to Dick. "What happened?"

"Some jerk in a mask tried to make off with her," Dick said, his brow knit angrily. "I didn't get a look at his face."

"Mask? What do you mean? Was it…" Alfred lowered his voice. "Was it Bat related?"

"I honestly don't know."

Alfred snarled. "I knew this would happen! I knew it would, I told Master Bruce, if we got her involved she'd be attacked. She'd be in the line of fire. And now…"

"Alfred, it could have been anyone," Babs said. "You know the sorts of people that show up at Bruce's parties."

"They don't usually wear masks." Alfred got up. "I'm telling Master Bruce. If that man shows up again, do not let him get away without getting a good look at his face. I want him identified."

Alfred stormed away, causing not a few people to jump hastily out of his path. As soon as he was gone, I tried to sit up.

"No, no, no, stay down," Babs said. "You'll feel much better quicker."

I nodded and lay down. Cass sat by me and played with my hair; it calmed me down. It made me think of Mom, how she used to play with my hair when we sat on the couch watching tv on weekends.

"I'm sorry this happened," Dick said.

"We'll make sure you're right for the after party," Babs said. "I promise."

I was too distracted to reply. It had just dawned on me that my masked attacker and the sudden speaker malfunction had been all too coincidental. And how had the man not been affected by the volume?

Who was trying to get me?

/

Bruce was getting tired of smiling.

He had been shaking hands and making small talk with every business investor in Gotham - all of whom, it seemed, had daughters about Bruce's age. The playboy routine was getting old. Already, it was looking as if tomorrow would consist of five cruises in the sports car and another party on the deck of the yacht. Bruce needed a good excuse to abandon the whole thing, and fast.

Bruce kept a brave smile on his face as he scanned the crowd for someone he didn't need to show off for. His eyes landed on Alfred, and a breath of relief nearly escaped his lips.

Then he looked closer.

Something was wrong. Alfred was wringing his hands, and even though his face looked calm enough, his eyes betrayed a silent but powerful anxiety.

Bruce turned to his latest female companions with another dashing grin. "Excuse me, ladies. I need to speak with my butler. Boring business stuff; I shouldn't be long."

"Come right back, Mr. Wayne!"

"I promise," Bruce said.

He quickly extricated himself from their arms and walked away. His grin slid away as soon as he was free. "I promise to take as long as possible."

"Alfred," he said, finally making it across the room. "What's wrong?"

Alfred spoke in a low voice. "Samantha's been attacked."

Bruce's heart plummeted to his stomach. "What?!"

"A man in a mask tried to run off with her on the dance floor."

"What do you mean, a man in a mask? Was it… business related?"

"I don't know, sir. The man got away; nobody saw his face."

Bruce sighed and rubbed his face. "Is Sam okay?"

"She fainted for a moment, but she's much better now. Honestly, sir, I think she's doing better than I am."

"Do you think she'll be able to handle the after party?"

Alfred shrugged. "I'd hope so, sir. She deserves to know. But after so much excitement, I don't know how much she can handle."

Bruce scowled. "She told me she thought someone was watching her. I should've been more attentive."

"And you didn't tell me this why?"

"Well, when was I supposed to have the time?"

"Master Bruce, if it concerns my niece, you make the time, understand?"

"I'm sorry, Alfred." Bruce sighed. "Alright, well… I think we should plan on having the after party unless Sam gets worse. Get Dick to take your post at the punch bowl. You should stay with her."

"Thank you, sir."

Alfred slipped back into the other room, and Bruce took a moment - a long moment - to get his mind and his face back in order for the rest of the night. He turned back to the crowd, his face smiling once more, not a trace of worry, not a lingering wrinkle to suggest that anything had happened.

It was as simple as putting on a mask.

/

The night felt like it went on forever. It was probably because I was lying on the floor like a slug, and later on, sitting in a chair with a glass of water, with Babs and Cass on either side of me like bodyguards, and Alfred sitting next to me. Tim, Jason, and Damian all swung by at some point to check on me. But most other people just ignored me, too busy pursuing their own entertainment to worry about pitiful little me.

It took a while, but finally, everybody left, including all those random people Bruce had invited to the after party. I worried that I had ruined it. Bruce had cancelled his party - which, as it looked, would have been much more comfortable for him, with just a few close friends - just because of me. Diana Prince and the Kents said goodbye to me, and they were very sweet about it, but it just made me feel even worse. I had just ruined their night by being a big baby and swooning all over everyone.

When the ballroom was finally empty, Babs put an arm around me. "Come with me, Sammy. Let's get you out of this dress."

"We'll meet you in the Batcave," Dick said with a wink and a grin.

"The cave?" I turned to Bruce. "You want to run some tests?"

"Not tonight, no," Bruce said.

"Then why-?"

"Come on," Babs said, steering me out of the ballroom. "We're just going to have a little Bat party for Tim."

"Oh, okay. Gotcha."

Babs and I went to my room. I changed into something more comfortable and brushed the curls out of my hair, making it all soft and wavy. Looking at myself in the mirror, I didn't think I was pale or sickly. I looked fine. I felt fine.

I had ruined the after party for nothing.

I walked out of the bathroom to find that Barbara was gone. I shrugged it off. She must have gotten tired of waiting for me and gone to the Batcave. So that was where I went.

I stepped out of the elevator and found everyone standing around the computer. I took my place between Alfred and Babs, staring up at the glowing screen.

There was nothing on it.

"Whatcha guys doing?"

"Waiting," Stephanie said. I did a double take when I realized what she was wearing. Looking around, I realized everyone was in their costumes. I felt ridiculously out of place in my jeans and sneakers.

"Waiting for what?"

Dick and Bruce shared a look. Bruce nodded, and Dick turned to me.

"The after party."

"What?!" I looked around. "I thought Bruce had cancelled it. I thought I ruined…"

"Tosh and nonsense," Alfred said, putting an arm around me. "You didn't ruin anything, love. Master Bruce just has issues with keeping secrets."

Bruce smiled from under the cowl.

Jason sidled up to me and put an arm around my shoulders. "How you doing, Sam?"

"Great now, actually! I'm just glad there's still going to be an after party. Except… Bruce, didn't everyone leave?"

Bruce, his back to me, said, "Oh, they just had to go get ready. There's one now."

An alert came up on the computer, saying someone was nearing one of the cave entrances. Bruce turned to Alfred. "That'd be Clark."

Alfred nodded and strode off down one of the many tunnels. I turned to Bruce. "Wait… hold on, are you telling me all those people - like the Kents and Miss Prince and Oliver Queen - they all know you're Batman?"

"Yep."

"And they can get into the cave?"

"Only if I let them in."

"But… why didn't I know about them before? I mean, I'd think you'd tell me if someone else knew who Batman is."

"That's what tonight is for, Sam," Bruce said. "To show you the people who know who Batman is."

"And who Batman knows they are."

I turned around to see the bespectacled Clark Kent, his wife, and a young boy in a Superman hoodie standing in the cave. How did they get here so fast?

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Not until everyone's here," Bruce said snappishly, his business mode turning on like a switch.

The boy waved enthusiastically. "Hey, Damian! Wanna explore the cave?"

Damian sniffed. "I already know these caves inside and out. It wouldn't be that exciting."

I frowned. "Damian, be nice."

There was a moment of silence. I glanced around. "What?"

The boy pointed at me in awe. "You… told Damian to be nice."

"Yes."

"Nobody ever does that."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry!" The boy walked up to me and thrust out his hand. "I'm Jon."

I shook. "I'm Sam."

"I think I'm gonna like you, Sam. Hey, d'you wanna explore the cave?"

"Um…" I turned to Bruce. "May I?"

"In a bit. Here comes Diana."

I turned to see Diana Prince walk into the cave. She saw me and smiled.

"I see you're doing much better, Samantha."

"Yes, thank you."

Diana gave me another grin and turned to Bruce. "The others will be here in a minute. They were picking up the cake."

"Ooh, cake!" Jon cried.

Another man walked into the cave - Bart, was it? No, Barry. Barry… Allen. He was followed by a young man, about Dick's age.

"Wally!" Dick cried. He vaulted across the room and landed right in front of the young man. The two clasped hands and hugged.

Behind Barry and Wally came Oliver Queen, and trailing behind him was a gangly, red haired man in a hoodie.

Jason turned to Bruce, his mouth hanging open. "You… invited…"

Bruce gave Jason a level glare. "One night, limited tolerance. Don't break anything or start a fight, and they can stay."

"They?!"

The redhead was followed - very closely - by one of the most dazzling women I had ever seen. Not quite as dazzling as Diana, but close. Her vibrant locks were pulled back into a graceful braid, and her eyes were an intense green that stood out against her tan skin.

Jason gave a gleeful whoop and ran across the cave to his… well, it looked to be his friends. I glanced at Bruce.

"What do you mean about starting a fight?"

"They're…" Bruce pursed his lips, as if trying to find a word that didn't taste sour. "They're a little rowdy sometimes."

There were a few more who came trickling in, none of whom I recognized. But I was starting to see a pattern - a lot of strong looking men, a few incredibly fit women, no particular connection, and all apparently friends of both Bruce and Batman. Who were these people? And how had I never seen or heard of them before?

Something was wrong with my eyes. As people mingled, I kept seeing some of them in particular arrangements. Particularly, I saw Bruce - as Batman - standing with Clark and Diana. Something about it was familiar. It made me think of newspaper clippings and billboards. But I couldn't put my finger on anything specific.

Alfred came back into the cave and gave Bruce the signal that everyone was here. Bruce sent me the happiest smile I had ever seen under the Bat cowl and called everyone to attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming tonight. First and foremost, a happy birthday to Red Robin…"

There was applause, still plenty enthusiastic for such a small crowd, and a couple exclamations of "happy birthday!" Tim couldn't help but grin as both Cass and Stephanie pecked him on the cheek.

"And now, for the main event. Sam, come to the front, please?"

I walked over to Bruce. I felt a wave of awe as I realized just how crazy it was to be standing casually next to not just billionaire Bruce Wayne, but Batman himself, in full costume, in the Batcave.

"Samantha Meyers has been living here for several months," Br- Batman said, putting a gloved hand on my shoulder. "Several of you know, she's Alfred's grand-niece. Her parents both passed away over the past couple years, so Alfred took her in."

"Cheers to Alfred," Dick said loudly.

Several people nodded.

"It's been a while now since she figured out, all on her own, I might add, that I'm Batman. I thought it was high time she met all of you, too. So, without further ado… Sam, would you kindly turn around and close your eyes?"

"Huh?"

"Just go ahead."

"Okay…"

I turned around and put my hands over my eyes.

"Alright, then. I want you to turn back around and open your eyes in ten, nine…"

Beyond Bruce's voice, I heard a lot of rustling and whooshing. I desperately wanted to turn around and look. What was going on?

"...three, two, one."

I let my hands fall and whirled around.

My jaw dropped.

Proudly arrayed before me was the Justice League of America.


	14. Chapter 13: Rock Bottom

**Chapter 13 - Rock Bottom**

The after party must have lasted several hours, because I remember asking a lot of questions. It was like having my own personal interview with the Justice League - any question I could think of, they were there to answer.

"Superman, what does it feel like to fly?"

"What is the fastest you have ever run?"

"Are you immortal? How long have you lived? What is the coolest historical event you've been around for?"

"So, what's Mars like? Can you shapeshift into anyone? How about Batman?"

"Since you're super rich, like Batman, can you make, like, gadgety bows and arrows? What can you do with them?"

"Is your hair actually on fire, or is that just a Tamaranian thing?"

"How are you related to Barry, again? Did you get your powers because of him, or…?"

"How do you do the scream? Is it a superpower, or do you have some sort of device?"

"If you're the space police, can you breathe in space, or do you need some sort of respirator? Is your weakness really the color yellow?"

I'm sure I annoyed them to bits, but in the moment, I couldn't help myself. I had to be the luckiest girl alive. I kept catching beaming smiles from the Batfam, and each smile I sent back felt bigger than the last one. I ate a lot of cake, too, so I was definitely hyped up on sugar. I wondered a couple times if it was a dream, but then Superman Kent would pat me on the shoulder, or his son would fly past Damian and poke him in the back, or Diana would slip me another slice of cake.

It wasn't a dream. It was a dream come true.

/

I went to bed at exactly 2:15 in the morning. I woke up at noon.

I lay in bed, ignoring my growling stomach, and recalled the joy and wonder of the night before. I felt unbelievably thankful for Bruce and his unexpected gift. And then I realized something. He had shown me the Justice League unmasked. Bruce… _trusted_ me. He trusted me with probably the greatest secret in the world. The thought made my whole body tingle with warmth.

Still beaming, I rolled out of bed and prepared for the day. Or, what was left of it. Insane - the Batfam stayed up that late, and later, practically every night. How did they do it?

It was a slow day. Being Saturday, nobody had any plans and I was off work, so we lazed around the manor all day, watching tv and eating more than enough of Alfred's homemade doughnuts. Every few minutes, I would recall something from last night and start squealing. I annoyed the boys with random facts about the Justice League, which ones shook my hand, how many of them were taller than Jason - that last one caused Jason to try to silence me with a pillow. But besides that, the boys didn't seem to mind my enthusiasm too much. On occasion, Dick would even join me in my fangirling.

Later in the afternoon, Bruce walked into the television room, where Tim was obliterating Jason on _Power Smash 3._

"Boys, and Sam." Bruce leaned over the back of the couch. "I was thinking, since we have some time before it's dark enough for patrol, we could have a movie night."

I glanced up. "A real one?"

Bruce smiled. "Yes, a real one."

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, in that case, we have to do it right. Which means pizza, ordered, not homemade. And we eat in here, in front of the tv. Pizza movie night. That's how my family always did it."

Jason sighed as Tim punched his avatar out of the ring. "It'd be better than this."

"I, for one, am totally up for this," Dick said. "Who's picking the movie?"

"My family always went in order," I said. "Youngest to oldest. Damian, you'd get to pick."

"Movies are a waste of time. They're unrealistic and do nothing to benefit the human mind. If anything, they dumb it down."

"Okaaaay… Tim?"

Tim cocked his head. "Something light. Not an action movie. Maybe a comedy?"

"Rom-com!" Dick chimed in. "Heck, yeah, I haven't watched a rom-com in ages!"

"Just tell me when the kissing parts come on," Jason said. "I need to know when to cover Damian's eyes."

Bruce pulled out his cell phone. "I'll order the pizza. Any preferences?"

I felt a surge of nostalgia. "Yeah… Gianotti's. They do takeout and delivery. Not to mention they've got the best cheese in the universe - the kind that gets super melty and you try to pull it apart but it just strings, and it's all gooey and soft and…"

"Ugh, shut _up_ , you're making me hungry!" Dick moaned.

Damian pursed his lips. "I think I'll just have a sandwich. Someone should watch the monitor, in case…"

"Damian Wayne, you are not missing pizza movie night."

"You heard Sam," Jason said. "If you try to skip out, I'm tying you to the couch."

Damian heaved a sigh. "Fine. I'll endure your forced entertainment."

"Good choice. Okay, Dick, give me some titles! Let's pick a movie."

The pizza arrived at about the same time we agreed on a movie. We squeezed all seven of us onto the two couches and turned the lights off, to fully enjoy the next half hour of eating pizza and laughing at one-liners.

Then, Alfred paused the movie. "Anyone for dessert?"

Dick threw his hand in the air. "Yes, please!"

"Not too much sugar," Bruce warned. "We do still need to patrol once this is finished."

"I'll do my best not to spoil them," Alfred said with a wink.

I grinned and snuggled further under my blanket. I was warm, I was happy, and my family sat all around me. What could be better? I tucked my head against Jason's shoulder.

"Don't fall asleep on me," Jason teased. "I don't want to have to clean your drool out of my jacket."

"You looked close to nodding off yourself, there. Are you really that bored?"

"I was staying rested for patrol."

"Mm-hm."

Jason glanced down. "You're kinda rosy. Are you too warm?"

"No."

"So, you _are_ blushing. I didn't think the dude was that hot."

"Shut up, Jay."

Alfred came back bearing seven whipped-cream-topped milkshakes on a tray. We dimmed the lights again and started the movie back up. I tried to keep my eyes open, but the glowing, peaceful heat in my chest was making me sleepy. My lids drooped; the closed once, only for a second. Then again, for a longer second. Soon, I was only listening to the movie, leaning heavily on poor Jason's arm. Then the sounds of the movie merged into the soundtrack of dreams, and I fell finally asleep.

I wasn't prepared at all for what I saw when I woke.

/

Alfred wiped his eyes as the credits began to roll. He was too old for romances; they always made him cry. He heard a soft chuckle from Jason.

"My arm is completely numb."

"Sam fell asleep on you?" Dick said.

"Yeah."

"I don't blame her," Alfred said, starting to pile milkshake glasses on the tray. "We had a late night last night."

"Speaking of late nights, we should get going," Bruce said. "Meet in the cave in fifteen minutes."

"Bruce…"

"What, Jason?"

Jason had his hand on Samantha's forehead. He looked up at Bruce with a wrinkled brow.

"She's really warm."

There was a moment of silence. Alfred set the tray back down and laid the back of his hand to Sam's cheeks and forehead. "He's right. She's burning up. Something's wrong."

Bruce was instantly alert. "Get her to the Batcave. If it's an attack, we can monitor it directly…"

"Monitor?" Alfred said, feeling his blood pressure rising. "What about making sure she's safe first?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so blunt. But if we're going to figure out what's wrong with her and how to cure it, we need more information. Jason, you carry her. Tim, Damian, you get the bed and monitors set up with the computer."

Jason lifted Sam into his arms. "Alfred, come with me. You can help me get her comfortable."

As Alfred followed Jason to the secret door in the study, his worry continued to grow. Samantha was completely unresponsive. And he could feel how warm she was, even with just a hand on her arm; she was radiating body heat. This didn't seem like a normal fever.

They took the elevator down, meeting Tim and Damian at the foot of the stairs. Jason rushed Samantha to the bed and laid her down, then stepped back so Alfred could stand by her side. Damian immediately started strapping her in and plugging her to monitors. Tim slammed his fingers into the computer keys, quickly bringing up Sam's medical files and linking up to the monitors.

The moment the heart monitor came online, Alfred froze. "Good heavens…"

"There's our problem," Tim said. "Rapid heartbeat. We need to bring it down. Alfred…"

"Already on it."

Bruce and Dick arrived in time to see the next worrisome sign. Dick stared at the computer screen.

"Is that her _brain_?"

"It is," Tim said. "Hyperactive. It almost looks like every part of her brain is going at once, at full capacity."

"Isn't that normal?" Jason asked.

"No, Jason! Where did you learn biology?"

"I think maybe the Alps…?"

"Not the time," Bruce snapped, joining Tim at the computer. "That's not all. Shallow breathing, high temperature, no movement. I've never seen this before."

Alfred looked up, feeling cold. "I have, sir. Only once… the day before her mother went into the coma." He gripped his niece's hand tighter. "She never woke up."

The Batcave went cold. Alfred looked down at Sam's limp, silent body and felt a cloud of dread settle over him. If this was it… no. This couldn't be the end.

"We're not losing her," Bruce said, turning back to the computer. "We just need to target each symptom as an individual problem."

"Jason," Alfred said, snapping into action. "Get the extra blankets from the locker. Damian, get over here and figure out a way to calm her heart and breathing. Dick, get me equipment for a blood sample, I want to make sure there's nothing in her system."

"Blankets," Jason said, running over with some bundled in his arms.

Damian tried the finger trick. "Anything?"

"Heart rate's slowing," Tim said. "Fast… too fast! Alfred, she's fading!"

"Not going to happen! Jason, defibrillator, now!"

"She's not redlining," Bruce said. "She's just slowing down."

"She's going comatose," Alfred said. "Same thing that happened to her mother. I don't know what to do…"

"Force her awake!" Jason yelled.

"No, that could send her into shock, could even trigger a seizure. Bruce, Tim, research…"

Suddenly, Damian tensed. "Someone's—"

With no warning, something large and dark fell on top of Damian. There wasn't a moment to react before five more came tumbling down from the heights of the cave.

"Not these guys," Jason groaned, pulling out his guns as one of the giant humanoid bats turned on him. "Not now-!"

A second Man Bat snuck up behind Jason and knocked him hard in the head. Alfred looked to Bruce, but even the Bat had been taken by surprise. Alfred felt something massive breathing down his neck. A moment later, something collided with the back of his head, and Alfred fell into darkness.

/

Jason came to with a groan. He slowly dragged himself to his elbows, looking around the cave. Everyone else was still out cold - even Alfred. Jason growled in outrage that anyone would dare harm Alfred - but then he looked at the bed.

The rest of the sleepers were awoken by the sound of Jason yelling curses at the ceiling. Alfred pulled himself to his feet, and his eyes fell on the empty bed.

"Samantha…" Alfred looked up. "Jason. Where's…?"

"Gone!" Jason grabbed the pillow and threw it hard. "They took her!"

"No," Bruce said. He stumbled to the bed. "She can't be gone."

"She is," Jason snapped. "She is, and we failed her, and now she's been kidnapped!"

"Who would even know she was here?" Dick asked. "Who would want her?"

"Who else uses Man Bats to do their dirty work?" Tim asked.

"Grandfather," Damian snarled. "What would he want with Samantha?"

"Wait." Dick reached out and picked up a piece of paper that was sitting on the mattress. "They left us something."

"Let me see," Jason snarled. He reached out to grab it, but Dick moved out of his reach. He squinted at the paper.

" _The girl is in good hands… Beloved_."

"Talia," Bruce said.

"But maybe that's a good thing," Damian said quickly. "Maybe she's helping us."

Jason stared at the kid. "Helping? When has your mother ever been helpful?"

"Watch it, Todd."

"She _kidnapped_ Sam!" Jason kicked the bed. "How would that, in any way, lead you to think she wants to help us?"

"That's enough," Bruce roared. "We haven't lost her yet. You boys, Batwing. Now. Anything and everything you see, report immediately."

"She'll be home before morning," Dick said, racing off without a moment's hesitation.

Jason lingered, his hands shaking. "It won't be enough."

"Do you want her back?"

"Yes!"

Bruce glared. "Then go with your brothers."

Jason scowled. He turned and ran to the garage. His eyes fell on one of the Bat bikes. Yes, Man Bats could fly, but they didn't have to. Maybe searching by air and land would give them a better chance.

And going alone would give Jason the space he needed to let out his anger.

/

The boys sprinted off into the cave while Bruce headed for the computer. Alfred pulled his gaze from the empty bed and started pacing. "Anything yet?"

"Alfred, I just started."

"Well, hurry it up, then!"

"Calm down."

"I will calm down, sir, when my niece is safe and Talia al Ghul is back where she belongs! Now get to it!"

Bruce growled and kicked one of the processors. "I don't even know how long we were out, what direction the Man Bats went… Tim's better at tracking Ra's. I shouldn't have sent him off."

"You did, so stop whinging."

"If Ra's doesn't want to be found, he won't be!"

"That's not good enough. I know you can find him, Bruce, so for God's sake, find him!"

"I'm working on it, give me some peace!"

Alfred opened his mouth to yell back, then closed it. "I'm… sorry, Master Bruce. I didn't mean to yell."

"I understand. Go upstairs and get some sleep. I'll call you if I find anything."

Alfred's shoulders slumped. "Isn't there something I can do?"

"Not now. Please, Alfred, just…"

Bruce faltered and stopped, but Alfred understood the message. Bruce needed to concentrate, and Alfred was being a distraction.

"Find her, sir," Alfred said, turning to leave. "Please."

Bruce grunted, his eyes glued to the computer screen. Alfred headed for the elevator. As soon as the doors closed and the car started to rise, Alfred's knees buckled and he sat down hard. He dug his knuckles into his eyes, his teeth clenched.

Samantha was gone.

So far as Alfred knew, she could be dying - dead. She could be anywhere by now, depending on how long they had all been unconscious. And she was in the hands of Talia al Ghul. What would she and Ra's even want Samantha for? Bargaining? Revenge? Nothing good, certainly.

What about the Lazarus Pit?

Alfred's heart lurched. What if the Lazarus Pit was somehow involved? It could cure Samantha! It could make her healthy for good. But Alfred had read the file on that cursed pit. It did horrible things to those who used it. Jason was a perfect example, as was Ra's himself. It had a long and terrible history, and if Talia decided to throw his precious niece into those treacherous waters, her body might be healed, but what of her mind? Would she go mad? Alfred couldn't bear it if he saved her body, only to lose her spirit.

Alfred looked to the ceiling of the elevator car and prayed.

"Not my little girl. Please, not her."

/

"Alfred."

Alfred woke up on the couch in Bruce's study. Light was peeking through the curtains. It was morning.

All the events of last night came rushing back. Alfred sat up. "Did you find her?"

Bruce's lips tightened into a grim line. Alfred's heart sank.

"You didn't."

"I tried. I set the scanners for the Man Bats' biosignal, but I got nothing. I've tried hacking cameras and computers in every location I've known Ra's to inhabit, but everything led to a black screen. The boys flew and drove in every direction for miles, but there was no trace of anyone. Not even tracks leading in or out of the cave."

Alfred slumped back on the couch. "This can't be happening."

"We won't stop trying."

"No…"

Alfred stared at a fraying spot on the rug. He didn't know what to do. Samantha was gone, vanished into the wind. He didn't know if she was well, if she was hurt, where she was, or how to get her back. He had never felt so helpless. He wanted to do something, to get up, move, make use of himself.

"I should make breakfast," Alfred said, starting to get up. "What would you like…?"

"Alfred."

Bruce took his arm and sat him down, taking a seat beside him. "Not today."

Alfred sighed and put his head in his hands. "I can't… sit."

"You can."

Alfred dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. He couldn't think straight. He was angry. He was tired. He needed to know his niece was safe, now, if not sooner.

"Alfred," Bruce said softly. "I know this is hard. Heaven knows you've watched me go through this, with all my Robins, my friends, my allies… my family. Please, let me try to help you like you've helped me."

Alfred took a long breath and tried to get his thoughts in order. What was he supposed to do now? In this moment, what should he do? He felt so restless… shouldn't he get up, at least? Why couldn't he do anything but sit on this couch in silence?

"We will find her. She's not gone. She's just hidden. Ra's can't hide forever…"

"Yes, he can. We both know that."

Bruce hesitated. "Maybe. But all of us, the whole team - and not just us, the Justice League, the Teen Titans, anyone - we _will_ keep looking. We'll keep searching until there isn't an inch of earth we haven't touched. We'll find Samantha. I promise you that, on my honor."

"You can't promise that."

"Alfred." Bruce knelt in front of him. "I swear, on the grave of my parents, I will find Samantha and bring her home, alive, safe, and whole."

Alfred looked up at Bruce. The man was serious. Alfred took a shuddering breath.

"I trust you, Master Bruce."

Bruce nodded. "I won't let you down."

The door of the study swung open a little, and Damian peeked in. "Father…"

Bruce stood. "Come in, Damian."

Damian came in slowly, then opened the door wider to admit Tim, then Dick, then Jason.

"We made breakfast," Dick said. He set down a breakfast tray bearing a plate of eggs and sausage and coffee. "It's not much, but…"

"Thank you, Dick," Bruce said.

"We're going back out," Jason said, his voice hard. "Should we wait for you?"

"Go ahead. I'll follow in a bit."

The boys vanished behind the grandfather clock. Alfred couldn't eat; he just held his coffee, taking a small sip whenever Bruce glanced his way.

Bruce, meanwhile, started going through the contacts on his phone and calling up Justice League members. He paced as he spoke, keeping each conversation as short as possible. With each new name Alfred heard, his hope grew just a little bit. Surely, with the entire Justice League on the case, Samantha would be found soon.

As Bruce moved on to other, more obscure contacts and called on older and older favors, Alfred got to his feet.

"I'm going to work on some things in the kitchen," Alfred said.

"Good."

Alfred set his cup on the tray and took it up. Bruce glanced over and covered the phone speaker with his hand.

"We'll find her soon, Alfred. I promise."

"I'm sure we will."

Alfred carried the tray out of the study. He let his feet take over, leading him to the kitchen on nothing but instinct. His work mode switched on mechanically, and he began to pile dishes in the sink, doing his best to ignore the deadly silence of the kitchen.

"They'll find her," he told himself absently. "They will find her."

/

It had been hours, and already, there had been at least a dozen visitors to the cave, offering their various skills to help find the charming young lady they had met at the party the other night.

Superman allowed Bruce to feed him sound clip after sound clip of Ra's and Talia talking; of Sam's heartbeat and breathing, normal, fast, and slow; of recorded Man Bats and League of Assassins ninjas and known associates. He then sat in one of the rooms upstairs, alone and in perfect silence, just listening. He flew all around Gotham, then the United States, and finally, all the way around the world, keeping his ears open for even the faintest snippet of one of their voices. He reported every single result, and though there were several hits, they were usually assassins on other missions, and once or twice, a rogue Man Bat flying circles over the ocean. He used his x-ray vision, flying close to every location Bruce gave him, then giving a broader sweep to the breadth of the Earth.

He found nothing.

Meanwhile, the Flash and his team of speedsters were running all over the planet. Cyborg rampaged through the reaches of technology; Aquaman combed the sea floor for anything like a secret base, or entrance to one. Bruce even sent Green Lantern and Martian Manhunter into orbit to see if Ra's could possibly have set something up in space. There were eyes and ears at work in every major city, every minor one, too. By the afternoon, there wasn't a square inch of earth that hadn't been searched.

And still, they found nothing.

By late evening, everyone was tired and fed up with the fruitless search. One by one, the Leaguers, the Titans, and their assorted allies had given their apologies to the Bat and returned home. But Bruce and the boys stayed up through the night, working the computer overtime and groping for any shred of hope they might find.

And still, nothing.

It was one in the morning when Bruce finally called a time out. The boys all made a beeline for their beds. Bruce, instead, went to the kitchen. He found Alfred still awake, brewing another pot of coffee.

Bruce sighed. Alfred was looking very much his age. His eyes were red from tears and exhaustion, the wrinkles in his face were deeper than ever, and his hands were shaking.

"Alfred," Bruce said with affectionate annoyance. "You should be sleeping."

Alfred just gave him a deadly glare and continued with his work.

"Fine. I'll have a cup, too, if you don't mind."

"Anything?"

"Not yet."

"I can take the computer tomorrow."

"No, you'll sleep tomorrow. You're not as young as the rest of us, you need rest."

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd rather not talk about this right now."

Bruce frowned. "Alfred, if you let your emotion control your common sense like this, you're going to waste away. I don't want to have to order you to bed."

Alfred slammed two mugs of coffee on the table. "Very well, sir, I'll take a nap. Later."

"Thank you."

Alfred plunked a spoon into his coffee and started stirring, with no apparent interest in taking an actual drink. Bruce frowned at him and took a sip of his. Then he grimaced.

"Is there sugar in this?"

Alfred looked up. "That might be mine."

"Alfred…"

"Here," Alfred said, switching their mugs. He dropped his spoon into the new one and resumed his pointless stirring.

Bruce looked down at his mug. There was definitely cream in this one. If Alfred had been thinking straight, he would have remembered that Bruce always took his coffee black. But Alfred clearly wasn't thinking straight, and Bruce didn't have the heart to correct him again. He steeled himself and took a sip. Yep - definitely sugar in this one, too.

Bruce leaned over the table. "Alfred, you remember me swearing I'd find her, right?"

Alfred nodded, his spoon clinking against the sides of the mug.

"And you know I don't break my promises, right?"

"You swore on your parents' grave, sir. You'd die before you broke a promise like that."

"Good. So, you know I'm going to find her."

Alfred bowed his head, and the stirring stopped.

"Come on, Alfred. All of this - not resting, not taking care of yourself, being scatterbrained - it looks to me like despair."

Alfred slammed his hand into the table.

"I have not despaired. I have not given up. Don't you dare suggest I would ever give up on my little girl."

Bruce couldn't stop a small smile from spreading across his face. That was the Alfred he knew - fire and spirit, unwilling to doubt for a second that good will win.

"I know you won't. But I need you to stop neglecting yourself. Make sure Samantha has an uncle to come home to. Okay?"

The spark in Alfred's eyes faded, and he sat back down. "Yes, sir."

Bruce nodded in satisfaction and took a sip of his coffee. Then he remembered and almost spat it back out. He looked sadly at his milky, sugary coffee and resigned himself to the long days ahead.

/

Around two-thirty in the morning, Bruce finally convinced Alfred to get some sleep. Alfred realized for the first time in at least twenty-four hours that he was exhausted. It took all of his energy to climb up the stairs to his room. He sat on the edge of his bed and heaved a sigh.

He glanced at the picture on his nightstand: a man and a woman, with a girl in her early teens between them. It was taken the day Daphne and Charles left on that fateful trip. Samantha was laughing.

Alfred found the strength to smile. He would trust Bruce with his life. He could trust him with Samantha's. She would be home in no time.

But as he lay back on his pillows and tried to close his eyes, the question continued to race through his thoughts: where was Samantha now?


	15. Chapter 14: Story of My Life

**Chapter 14 - Story of My Life**

"Wake up, my dear."

My eyes opened slowly. I didn't know where I was. It looked as grand as Wayne Manor, but nothing was white, nothing was antique and soft and real. Everything looked like gold, mixed with an otherworldly shadow. I didn't like it.

"Samantha."

A lady's voice. I turned my head to see a woman, probably only in her twenties, with soft, silky hair and a face like an angel's. I didn't know whether to like her or not. She seemed human, but then again… maybe not.

"You've been asleep, my dear," the lady said. "You need to give your mind time to right itself. Just rest and wait until my face is clear to you."

I closed my eyes and waited a moment, until my limbs didn't feel quite so far away, then opened them again. The lady was still there. Her face was less shimmery now. But it was still beautiful. Maybe not an angel, but definitely not ordinary.

"Where am I?"

"Safe," the lady said.

My brain was having trouble processing things. I knew I had been in the tv room at Wayne Manor a minute ago. I fell asleep, and then… I didn't know. I had no idea what had happened… how long I had been asleep. I was so confused, and had so many questions, so I went for the obvious one.

"What happened?"

"You fell asleep."

"How did… I get here?"

"I brought you. You were in urgent need of help."

"Bruce can help," I said vaguely. My head still felt fuzzy.

"He could not help you with this."

"Who are you?"

The lady smiled. "My name is Talia."

Talia. _Talia al Ghul._

I gasped and scrabbled at the blankets. If I knew anything, I knew the al Ghuls were bad. Damian told me so.

"What do you want with me?" I asked, grabbed onto the pillows with determination. I could use one to bat her away, then run…

"Sh…" Talia put a hand gently on the bed, her voice soothing like silk. "Be calm. I will explain everything to you when you wake up again. But you're still tired and weak. You need to rest."

"I'm not weak. Get away from me!"

"Sh. Sleep."

"I don't-"

Out of the blue, my head went light. I lay back on the pillows and closed my eyes to wait for the dizziness to pass.

/

When I woke once more, Talia was standing at my bedside. She looked much more human now, and the room was much less intimidating. Definitely still gold, though. Talia had some kind of colored cloth draped over her arm, and across the room I could see a table with food on it.

"You can get up now, Samantha," Talia said. "Your body should be restored to proper health."

I got slowly out of the bed. But, to my surprise, the caution was unnecessary. I felt as if I'd never been tired. As if my body had never been tested or damaged in any way before. I could have run a mile and still felt this strong.

"This is… amazing," I gasped. "Did you do this? How?"

"Calm down," Talia said. "Your body may have new strength, and a lot of energy, but you aren't ready to use it. You still haven't eaten a full meal in days."

I rushed to the table and shoveled food into my mouth. A quick smile darted across Talia's face. Then she laid the colored cloth across my bed. I saw now that it was an outfit, a pair of loose pants and a matching top.

My hunger aside, my memory noticed something it hadn't before. "Did you say days? How long have I been out?"

"Five days, I believe."

"Five…!" I dropped the piece of bread I was holding. "I thought… I just fell asleep. What happened?"

"When you fell asleep, it… triggered… something. Your body went into shock and slowly fell into a comatose state."

"I was in a _coma_?"

"Not for long."

"Okay… but…"

"Eat! Questions later."

I nodded and finished eating. Talia gave me a check-up, gently testing my body, to see if my limbs and joints worked, my eyes and ears, my breathing. She declared me perfectly well. Then she took the loose shirt and trousers I had been wearing and helped me put on the new outfit. The fabric was thick and durable, but also soft and light. Sort of like how I'd always wished pajamas would work.

"I think your body is good as new," Talia said. She gave me a dazzling smile. "It seems my treatment worked."

"Treatment?"

Talia didn't answer, so I let it go. For now. I still couldn't quite believe what was going on. I was with Talia al Ghul. Just thinking that made me feel jittery, like I should turn and run as far away as I could. And yet, she had apparently done something to me that made my body better. I felt better than I ever had in my life. Should I thank her?

"Miss al Ghul…"

"Talia."

"Alright, Talia… I just… have a question… if… if you don't mind me asking… why?"

Talia raised an eyebrow. "Why what?"

I bit my lip nervously. If I offended her, would she set ninjas on me?

"It's just… no offense, but… you're supposed to be one of the bad guys. And it seems you've done something nice for me. I mean, I feel incredible. But why would _you_ do that for _me_?"

Talia was silent for a moment. "You are important, Samantha. More than you know."

I blinked. Not really an answer I was expecting. I looked down at my hands, searching for more questions. She was clearly willing to answer them.

"How did you heal me?"

"Have you heard of Lazarus Pits?"

"I have. Jason said you used it to bring him back to life."

"Not entirely. I don't know what brought him back from the other side, but when he did, his mind was… not entirely right. I used the waters to bring it back."

I cocked my head. "So… I wasn't dead, right?"

"No."

"That's good."

Talia smiled. "The Lazarus Pit is a dangerous power. My father keeps one to himself, to stay young; it's why many believe he is immortal. But the water, while it heals, can also drive a person mad. I have reason to suspect young Jason was affected by such a curse."

"Are you saying that's why he went crazy after he came back."

"In part."

I caught my breath. "Am… am I going to go crazy?"

"No. I've been… experimenting, on my father's orders. Testing diluted samples of the pit's water to see if I can reproduce its healing effect while keeping the patient's mind safe."

"So, I've been your guinea pig."

"Not the only one. I've had quite a few people come through my laboratory. You are the third successful test case."

I relaxed. "So, I'll be okay. Have I been… completely cured?" My spirits began to rise. "My disease. Is it gone? Am I… am I healed?"

Talia looked at me with unreadable eyes. "Your infirmity isn't… physical."

I blinked at her. "What do you mean, it's not physical? What, is it a figment of my imagination? Or… do you mean it's artificial? Like, a poison of some sort? Or mechanical? Is it nanites?"

"All will be explained in due time. But I cannot keep your infirmity at bay with medicine alone. That's why you've been brought here."

I looked down at my hands. I felt so healthy. So strong. But now a cloud of doubt had settled over my joy. I could have a relapse any moment. I could fall ill anytime. I wouldn't always feel this strong.

At least… for now. Apparently, Talia had something else in mind for me.

"I'm willing to try anything if it means being cured of this."

"Good. Then I will alert my father, and tonight, we will meet to discuss further plans."

Talia left me alone with my thoughts. I almost laughed out loud. I was going to meet Ra's al Ghul! I had already met his daughter. What a wild and dreamlike day this had been!

But it was not without a tinge of dread. I knew these people were bad news. I knew their beliefs, their concepts of right and wrong, were askew. What if their solution to my illness was something I didn't agree with? If I disagreed, if I refused to do it, would they turn on me – kill me?

I returned to my bed and lay down, not to sleep, but to think. There had to be a way I could work with them and get what I wanted, without compromising my sanity or my morality. I just had to be careful. Very, very careful.

/

Talia returned several hours later, wearing a silk evening dress and carrying another. She held the second out to me.

"Put this on. It's time for dinner."

"Why so fancy?" I asked.

"Because tonight is a special occasion. And you must look your best in my father's presence."

Oh. I was going to meet Ra's. Lovely.

I sighed out loud when I put the dress on; it was the softest thing I had ever felt. It fit perfectly, too, as if Talia somehow knew exactly my size. I felt beautiful. Watching Talia as she stood and moved, I tried to mimic her posture, the silent power and grace she exuded.

Then I slouched on purpose. What was I thinking? I didn't want to mimic Talia al Ghul. Suddenly, the dress felt like a mockery. Like I was her paper doll.

I followed her down hallway after hallway, until I was almost dizzy from all the twists and turns. We ended up in a cavernous dining hall, with a single table spanning the entire length. I had seen something similar in one of Wayne Manor's many dining rooms, but not on this grand a scale - and certainly not covered in gold.

And sitting at the head of the table was Ra's al Ghul.

He sat straight in his chair, his broad shoulders draped with an emerald green cloak. He didn't seem old, but his thick black hair was accented with streaks of grey. Just a glance in his direction was enough to catch the heat of the fire in his eyes.

I was tempted to curtsey. He looked so authoritative, so grand, so commanding, that I felt I should show some sign of my respect. But Talia made no such move, nor indicated I should. Anyway, it was Ra's al Ghul. I wasn't bowing to him.

"Welcome," Ra's said, rising from his seat. He motioned to two chairs on either side of him. "Come. Sit."

Talia took the seat on Ra's' right, so I sat on his left. Ra's nodded to a server standing at the side of the room, and the server bowed and left.

It made me think of Alfred. If this had been Wayne Manor, Bruce would have talked with Alfred, instead of just coldly signaling that the meal should start. And Alfred would have sat and eaten with us.

I missed him.

"Your thoughts wander home," Ra's commented, looking at me. "Am I right?"

"Yes, sir," I said, looking down at the table.

"Remind me, Miss Meyers, what is your connection to Gotham?"

I glanced up. He already knew my name, and that I lived in Gotham. How much did he know about me already? Was this a test, or did he really not know?

"I… grew up outside the city. And lived there later. I live there now. That is… I was…"

"I see. Do you have relations there?"

My face grew hot as I tried to think of a way out of his questioning. A server placed a dish in front of me - some kind of meat in a steaming sauce. It looked foreign, not like anything Alfred had ever made.

"My… parents used to live there. They've passed away since we moved to the city."

Ra's nodded, as if this were perfectly normal. Did he know about my parents? Talia seemed to know about my illness, more than I did; maybe she knew that my parents had it. Had she told her father? Had she learned it from him?

"And with whom do you currently live?"

I picked up a fork and busied myself with cutting my meat. "I… work for the Wayne family. They give me room and board."

"Ah. And how is Mr. Wayne these days? I have missed watching the Detective."

"Who?"

"The Detective, my dear. Batman himself. Surely, you know that Bruce Wayne is Batman by now?"

My face felt red hot. So, he knew. Or did he? Was he baiting me into giving away Bruce's secret? What should I do?

"I don't know what you mean."

Ra's observed me for a moment, then smiled a knowing smile. "You are loyal. I'm impressed. Yes, I know Mr. Wayne's secret. I also know that you know. I've been keeping a close eye on you, Samantha Meyers, and I must say, I have been quite impressed. You were clever enough to discover his identity on your own."

I kept my head down. He did know about Bruce. And he had been watching me. What all did he know?

And why me?

Ra's took a bite of his food and chewed slowly, then swallowed. "You must be wondering by now how I know about you. That mystery is easily explained. But it may be prudent to wait until after dinner."

I set my fork down. "Sir… I want to know."

Ra's smiled. "You're curious. Good. Very well, then, I will explain everything. If you don't mind, though, I will continue eating, even if you do not."

He took another slow bite, and I watched shamelessly, my curiosity burning too badly to be polite. Finally, he set his fork aside and turned to me.

"Years ago, I took a fancy to the extra-human. I was interested in studying, testing, and even attempting to recreate super powers. At the same time, I met a man who was exploring the realm of technology and its ability to enhance the physical and mental capacities of ordinary human beings. He had worked for STAR Laboratories for a decade when they fired him for… the death of a few of his test subjects, and suspected hazards in his work. When he met me, he was out of resources and desperate to continue his research. We decided to collaborate on a project.

"The idea was to synthesize an advanced brain without having to fully reinvent the human cerebral makeup. I suggested that he invent not a new brain, but a way to open the mental floodgates, and allow a greater flow of information. My partner caught onto the idea and invented a microscopic chip that could be inserted at the very base of the cerebral cortex, which would act as a second, more powerful processor and enhance the flow of information between the nervous system and the brain. But the genius of the thing was that it would be organically based and would meld with the biological matrix of its host, so that metal detectors, x-rays, and other scanners would be unable to tell the chip from human flesh. We had the technology; now we needed test subjects."

My heart was pounding. It felt like Ra's' speech was leading up to something massive, something looming like a raincloud. I rested my arms on the table, completely engrossed.

Ra's turned to me. "We couldn't conduct a very large test - not yet. We needed to see how the subject would respond to chip, if their body would accept it, and most importantly, if we had missed anything. We would have to keep a close eye on the subject for a prolonged period of time, preferably a period over which they would experience mental growth and change. In the end, we decided a child, between five and ten years, would be prime subject material."

A child… five to ten…

"I sent Talia to Gotham City, where she might be able to find a child of the proper age that wouldn't be missed or searched for. She happened to arrive in the middle of a crisis - the Joker was attacking the city, and even better, the Detective and his allies were occupied."

Joker… a Joker attack… a child, five to ten…

"Talia found a small boy, just old enough, who had wandered alone into an alleyway."

A boy, five to ten… the Joker…

Ra's was watching me closely. "I believe you already know who it was."

My hands were shaking. I knew who it was. I had known five minutes ago.

"You took my brother."

Ra's simply smiled, as if he didn't care that he had just torn apart every belief I had about what had happened to my brother. He continued quickly, not giving me a second for questions.

"Well guessed. Talia brought the child back to me, and we performed the chip insertion. The whole thing went smoothly and flawlessly, and when I saw how well we had done with the first test, I realized that it might be advantageous to have multiple test subjects at once. So, at the same time I was watching your brother, my partner was watching you, and waiting until the right moment."

My hand jumped to the back of my neck, nervously feeling the base of my skull. "You… you did it to me… I have a… oh my gosh, I'm…"

Talia walked around the table and stood behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders. "I know this is a lot to take in. Do you need a minute?"

Even though I felt like crying, I shook my head. I had to know. I had to understand. I was too intrigued to stop.

Ra's continued. "My partner found his opportunity when you had your surgery for removing your appendix. Do you remember? When you were almost six."

I nodded. "Yes."

"I had an ally in the hospital who carried out the surgery, then secretly inserted the chip. You wouldn't be able to feel it; it melded with your system almost instantly. With two test subjects going at once, we could get result from our own labs with your brother, and from the real world with you, and compare and contrast."

I felt sick to my stomach. There was a chip in my brain. There was an actual piece of technology in my head. Why hadn't I noticed anything?

"If… if I've had this… _thing_ … in my head this whole time, why didn't it do anything? Why aren't I… super smart or something?"

"Because the chip was only dormant; it couldn't enhance you without your consent – and that would require you knowing about the chip."

"Now that I know…"

"We will pursue that topic at a later date." Ra's took a leisurely sip of his wine. "We would have stopped with you two, but my partner was not content with waiting for results, and he decided to conduct a second experiment with adults, to see if they had a faster response. So, around when you and your brother reached your teen years, he went searching for adult test subjects. He unexpectedly met your parents in Beijing and decided he might as well keep the experiment limited to one family. Then, if something went horribly wrong, it would seem like a genetic issue, and hopefully not get traced back to him."

Horribly wrong… oh, no.

"It _did_ go wrong… didn't it?"

Ra's set his wine glass down. "You're learning. Yes, it did. My partner explained it to me as the body reacting to the unexpected surge of mental action. Their brains were sending more signals than their bodies could handle, so they started to translate the signals incorrectly. Sometimes, they wouldn't be able to translate them at all. For example, their brain would suddenly be unable to get signals from their eyes or ears. Or it would understand unexpected heat as coming from the body itself and start trying to cool itself down."

"But… but you said the chip didn't do anything unless you knew about it."

"I didn't say it did nothing. I said it could not enhance you. But… unfortunately, we only discovered when it was too late that the chips had a slight malfunction. When dormant, the chip would occasionally interact with outgoing signals. That's why the attacks, as you call them, were so erratic; the chip was not in control of itself."

I was feeling so strange, like my breathing was all wrong and my head was light. "So, all that stuff that was happening to them, that was your chip. They… died because of you."

"An unfortunate setback. But we still had you and your brother, both of whom were maturing quickly and beginning to show signs of physical deterioration like your parents. It was Talia who realized that you were fading too fast and decided to bring you here, so we wouldn't lose you."

The word "setback" kept ringing through my head. Setback… my parents' death was just a wrench in the gears to Ra's. He didn't care what it had done to me.

"How could you do this?" I gasped, trying not to cry. "How could you ruin our family like this?"

"Sometimes, the few must make sacrifices for the greater good…"

"You never asked our consent!" I jumped to my feet, so fast that my chair fell over backwards. "First you kidnapped my brother, forcing us to mourn him as dead, and then…"

Through the haze of my rage pierced a ray of clarity. I froze in my tracks.

My brother hadn't died in the Joker's attack. Ra's never said anything about him dying.

"My brother." I turned to Ra's. "Is he… alive?"

Ra's raised his eyebrows at my sudden topic change. He looked to the doors at the far end of the room. "Well, that would bring us around to our other guest; I thought it would be best if he didn't come until later, for your sake. But we can bring him in now."

I turned to the doors to see another server bow and walk out. He returned with a young man. From this distance, I could tell he was heavy set, fairly tall, with dirty blonde hair. He was dressed in black robes, tied at the waist with a green belt.

As he got closer, my heart started to pound. I knew this man. It was the same man who had been watching me at Tim's party, the one that tried to carry me off. But it was more than that. Now that all was calm around me, and I could finally observe the details of his face, something else was stirring in my head - a new kind of recognition.

And suddenly, I knew who he was.

I knew that face, the familiar nose, the big brown eyes framed by sandy locks - all so much like father's. It could have been father's face, except I also saw bits of mother, like that constant half smile, as if the wearer were privy to some wonderful secret. But more than that, it was the face of an old friend, one I hadn't seen since I was a little child, one I had imagined looking older each day, one I had missed for so long.

Jeremiah Meyers.

My long lost twin brother… was alive

 **End of Part One**


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